


We're What's Right In This World

by BriaMaria



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Louis, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Soldier Harry, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriaMaria/pseuds/BriaMaria
Summary: “Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.”----Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Reverse Bang challenge, off of the extraordinarily multi-talented [ Rachel's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivingfire/pseuds/alivingfire) ([ ALivingFire ](http://alivingfire.tumblr.com)) artwork and prompt. Thank you so much for both! The moodboard is absolutely stunning. I hope I did it justice! 
> 
> Prompt: Harry's gone off to be a soldier in WWII. He's left behind best friend (and love of his life) Louis, who can't go to war and who runs his own mechanic shop. Harry somehow survives fight after fight and Louis gets himself and his sisters through the Blitz, and as the end of the war approaches and Harry can finally go home, he and Louis both wonder if they'll even recognize themselves when there's not a war to worry about, let alone each other. Bonus points if you can do letters back and forth from Harry on the front lines and Louis at home.
> 
> Notes: I am not a WWII scholar (shocking I know!!) Everything that's actually mentioned happened, but please forgive me any inaccuracies with vernacular and such. For timeline's sake, Harry's birthday is in August. There's also a brief mention of Jay's passing in the prologue so head's up there. I wanted to mark the period-typical homophobia in the tags, but the mentions of it are brief and don't play a major role in the fic. 
> 
> Thank you so much to the RB mods. You guys are absolute rock stars. Please go read the [ RB works ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1D_Reverse_Bang_2017), they're all going to be amazing. I hope you enjoy this :)) xo

**_~~~_ **

_PART ONE: ‘WE’RE STILL YOUNG’_

1939 london

**~~~**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155568688@N03/23610463718/in/dateposted-public/)

**~~~**

**PROLOGUE**

**~~~**

The world hadn’t always been dark for Louis Tomlinson. There had been color when he was younger. Bright flashes of it. The red of his mother’s hair when it caught the sun. The purple of an errant flower that forced itself through a crack in London’s sidewalks. The gold of a sparkler held between stubby, nervous fingers.

The green of Harry’s eyes.

He’d had ten whole years of collecting and cataloguing the colors that painted the world into something other than black. And then he lost them.

It came and went with a fever, the darkness. He’d been very cold and then very hot and then very tired. When he opened his eyes next there was nothing there.

He remembered the hitch in Harry’s quiet breathing when Louis had asked why there was a bandage over his eyes. “There isn’t,” the boy had whispered. And then he’d run to get Jay.

If his mother had been a weak person, perhaps things would have turned out differently for him. Perhaps he would have wilted, perhaps he would have shrunk back from the world that was all of a sudden dangerous, perhaps he would have turned angry.

But Jay was Jay. And bitterness just wasn’t allowed.

She’d rocked him at first, of course. Whispered soothing words they both knew were empty into his hair as Harry hovered nearby, mostly silent except for the little gasps that gave away his tears. Then she cupped his face, rubbing her thumbs along his cheekbones, and kissed his forehead. It was quick and hard and fierce and Louis knew then there would be no wilting, no shrinking away, no anger.

Jay wouldn’t allow it.

“How am I going to do it?” he wailed once, frustrated, near tears, sweaty from trying to maneuver around his own cramped parlour.

“You’re just going to fucking do it, Louis,” Jay said from somewhere above where he’d sprawled on the ground.

And that was that.

She never adjusted for him, not really. When they left the flat, he knew she had her eye on him just in case, but she let him figure it out.

Instead of throwing out a hand to keep him from stepping off a kerb, she let him get used to the sound of cars that were too close. Instead of keeping him near, always, she let him run the streets, learning the dips and grooves and the places his shoes would skid on slippery stone. Instead of allowing him to retire to bed all day, she sent him on errands to pick up milk and eggs and butter with nothing more than instructions on what they needed.

There may have been mistakes and missteps--including a particularly painful broken arm--as he’d learned to navigate the world without something soft to buffer him, but he’d learned to navigate it nonetheless.

Three years after the fever, Jay married Dan. He was an American who stretched his vowels in funny ways and owned a mechanic shop down the block from their tiny flat. He moved them into the space above his garage and Louis had to spend a year figuring out how not to bump into things again.

But Dan was a good chap. He fed them all and clothed them all and more importantly made the girls giggle in a way Louis hadn’t heard since before the fever. Best of all, though, was that Dan taught Louis cars.

It started one unseasonably hot July when they’d thrown all the windows open but still couldn’t quite breathe as the oppressive air weighed heavy on their chests. They dripped sweat and had long since stopped riling each other, too damp and exhausted to do anything more than lay on the cool tile of the kitchen floor.

“Come on then,” Dan nudged Louis’ thigh with the tip of his boot as he passed. “It’ll get your mind off the heat.”

And so Dan taught Louis cars. He taught him the feel of the engine beneath sensitive fingertips. He taught him the rattle and clank of a broken part that needed fixing. He taught him how to slide smoothly beneath the carriage where he had an advantage to the rest of the mechanics. While they had to adjust to the darkness, Louis thrived.

It was a blessing, that learning, when three years later Dan and Jay went out for a night on the town and never came back. A hit-and-run that left Louis to care for his four younger siblings. If it hadn’t been for Dan’s garage they would have been torn from their home and placed in an orphanage.

Life, which had never been particularly easy, turned downright miserable after that. Holding his family together became his sole purpose. That’s how he got through it.

Well that. And Harry.

Harry Styles was the actual light in Louis’ life. Always had been, always would be.

Their mums had lived next to each other when they’d been babies. Anne and Jay, both divorced and on their own with children, had become inseparable. Their flats were tiny and not necessarily in the bad part of London, but close to it. On its edges. But the women made it feel safe and warm with their shared laughter and their smiles and the flowers they kept on kitchen windows even though neither had the money to spare for the blooms.

Harry and Louis ran between the flats as if no boundaries existed at all, harassing both mothers and Gemma, Harry’s older sister, who pretended to be above it all but every once in awhile got pulled into their latest adventure.

Sometimes they were pirates on the high seas, searching for gold in far-off exotic lands. They fought sea monsters and the Spanish flotilla and drank rum on warm islands. Sometimes they were explorers in mysterious jungles they only barely knew about. Sometimes they were the American cowboys who rode horses and robbed trains while wearing bandanas tied around their faces. Harry told Louis to leave him behind when he got bucked from a wild stallion and Louis said he would rather die together than live alone, and they were only nine and seven at the time but it felt like a pledge that was far more serious than a silly kids’ game.

On the second night of the darkness, Harry crawled into Louis’ narrow bed, slotting himself between Louis and the wall. Their warm bodies crashed against each other, their legs intertwining, Harry’s hair flopping into Louis’ mouth, his hands tight around Louis’ back.

Louis was ten and Harry was eight and they were both scared and so they clung to each other and Louis could hear the way Harry couldn’t quite control his breathing but was trying to. For Louis’ sake. His fingers traced up the knobs of Harry’s spine, counting them, learning them. He buried his face in Harry’s hair, which had the faint sweetness of vanilla lingering on the curls. Louis felt the heart that was tripping along beneath Harry’s chest where it was pressed to his.

His senses were overwhelmed by Harry. He didn’t even need to see him, because he knew Harry’s face better than his own. He could picture it down to the freckle on the left side of Harry’s nose and for the first time in two days he didn’t feel untethered. With Harry snug against him, the memory of his face chasing away the darkness, Louis could breathe again.

It was one of his biggest fears that their adventures would stop. Jay treated him normally, but no one else really did. People on the street were always rushing to help him or stop him or make him feel useless in some other way. He was no longer the mischievous Tomlinson boy whose hands you had to watch if you put out fresh peaches. He was the sad, blind boy to whom you slipped extra fruit because something nice should happen to him if he was suffering so.

But the adventures with Harry, they didn’t stop. The boy still bounced onto his bed early in the morning curling his body into Louis’ and whispering in his ear, “Who will we be today?”

Anybody but who I actually am, Louis wanted to whisper back, but never did. He wondered if Harry saw it on his face, because sometimes he’d tug on Louis’ hand just a bit harder to pull him from the tangle of sheets.

And then they were off, running through the streets, and ducking into the abandoned factory at the end of the block. Sometimes Harry would steady him if Louis tripped. Always he would guide him with his voice, an endless stream of chatter that Louis could follow without making it obvious what he was doing. It was about anything and everything. Old Mrs. Hackshaw’s new bonnet that had three-- _three--_ pineapples attached to the top of it. Mr. Peterson’s new market stand that looked like his son who didn’t know the business end of the saw built it. That the happy, shaggy dog who wandered the streets near their flat was making friends with the black cat who perched in windowsills and liked to look superior to the mere mortals below.

“Friends?” Louis giggled, unclear what that would even look like.

Harry had stopped, grabbing Louis’ wrist to let him know. It was those easy gestures that made Louis feel safe, but not babied. “The best of friends. Like us Lou.” The smile in Harry’s voice was so clear that Louis brought his thumb up to rub at the dimple he knew was in that cheek. It deepened underneath his touch.

“But how do you know?”

“The cat brought him a mouse, Louis,” Harry said, and Louis dropped his hand. It didn’t make Harry uncomfortable, he knew, the way Louis touched so freely these days. He was patient about it, never batting away Louis’ hands. But sometimes the skin was too smooth underneath his fingers, sometimes Louis wanted it too much. When he did, he backed away. Not even sure what it meant, but knowing he shouldn’t feel it.

“Then the cat curled up against the dog,” Harry sighed a little, content sigh and Louis loved him. This boy who was so happy because a dog and a cat made friends. Who looked for moments like that where others kept their gazes on the ground and their minds on the dreariness of their days and missed those special flashes of life. The ones that brought color to the world.

If Louis needed someone to be his eyes, there was no one better for the role than Harry Styles.  

When Louis was twelve and Harry ten, Anne met Robin. They were married three months later and Harry moved to a slim house tucked into a narrow street in a slightly better part of London. That was when Louis was convinced their adventures would end and there was a sharp gnawing in his stomach the day he found out. But one week after they moved, Harry was back at his door. Who are we going to be today, Lou? And off they went.

By the time Louis was nineteen and Harry was seventeen Louis knew he would love the boy the rest of his life. He also knew he could never let anyone find out. If Harry noticed that Louis would scoot away when they ended tangled up in a bed together, or that he stopped reaching out to touch Harry’s face when Louis knew he was smiling, he didn’t say anything.

And so Louis loved, and Harry called him his best friend. And that would have to be enough.

Then the war came.

**~~~**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**~~~**

“Mum cried last night,” Harry whispered, his voice softer than it had been a moment ago while reading about Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth’s love affair. It was something they did often--lay on the rooftop of the old abandoned building three storefronts down from the garage with Harry reading out loud with Louis’ head on his stomach.

Harry’s fingers were in his hair. Just because Louis had stopped reaching out to touch, touch, touch, didn’t mean Harry had. Louis was drifting, as this was the third time they’d read Pride & Prejudice and he could almost do some of the dialogue by heart now. But Harry loved it, and Louis couldn’t stand saying no when Harry’s voice got fast like that, excited. “They’re so in love, Lou,” he would sigh, that happy little sigh. The same one as when he’d seen the dog and cat make friends.

Louis would scoff because what did nineteen year old boys care about love? But Harry knew it was a ruse, and would bring the book anyway.

Silly Lydia had just run away with Wickham when Harry stopped. His thumb found Louis’ temple and rubbed there just a little and Louis almost purred at the sensation. He kept very still instead so as not to accidentally jostle Harry into moving away.

It was then Harry’s words sunk in. “The war?”

The idea of it lived like a shadow in everyone’s minds. No one dared to put voice to the fear as if it would bring it upon them early. But just because they talked around it didn’t mean it didn’t lurk behind every thought.

“My birthday is in three weeks,” Harry said.

“You don’t have to go.” Louis knew it was selfish, but Harry didn’t reprimand him for it. Not beyond a small tug to his hair before continuing his gentle ministrations again.

They both knew Harry was going to sign up to fight the day after he turned 18. It was the plan for longer than Louis could remember. It never felt as real, though, as it did now.

“Hey Lou?” Harry’s voice was gentle and hesitant. Whatever he was about to ask would be a favor. “Can we go to Brighton for the day sometime before then?”

Louis laughed, more surprise than amusement. “What, you want to flock with the day-trippers?”

“Lottie and Zayn could watch the shop couldn’t they?”

They could. Lottie handled the office while Zayn, his other mechanic, could deal with anyone who dropped by with trouble. But that would mean Louis had to go to Brighton Beach. With tourists and crowds and noise and chaos. He wanted to say no.

But then Harry’s breathing changed. Louis felt it in the rise and fall of his chest. “Please,” the boy whispered on an exhale, the word going wobbly in the middle. “Just one day. I just. I want one day, where we’re just purely happy, you and me. Together.”

And Louis could deny him nothing. Not his boy. Not when he asked like that. “Sure, Haz. Of course.”

Harry let out a little whoop and the strange tension in the air broke.

One day. One day. Louis couldn’t keep his mind from understanding everything that meant. In a time when one hour of going without thinking about the brewing conflict was a victory, one day seemed almost impossible.

Although war hadn’t actually been declared, the government had reinstated conscription for men aged twenty to twenty-two. Politicians’ speeches had taken on a patriotic air, and there was increased talk of glory and righteousness on the radio while housewives in the shops whispered about stocking up on provisions.

There was no denying it at this point--war was coming. And Harry would be there to meet it when it arrived.

“Haz.” Louis interrupted Harry, who had gone back to reading, mid-sentence. The boy huffed out a breath, half annoyed but mostly amused with Louis’ questionable attention span.

Louis wished he could see Harry’s face when he asked the question. Instead he placed a hand over Harry’s heart. It’s what he did when he wanted to know how the boy felt about something. Really felt. Louis had years of interpreting the beat of his heart.

Harry indulged him, placing his own large hand over Louis’. “Yes, Lou?”

“Why?” He needed to know. Harry was smart, so smart. He wrote poetry and even read it to Louis sometimes. It would be on nights like this, with Louis’ head on his stomach and Harry’s back against cool concrete as Harry watched the stars and Louis listened to words that formed love into an actual reality. In his own little world, in the darkness where no one else could see his thoughts, Louis would pretend the poems were about him.

They weren’t. Of course they weren’t. But they were brilliant, and Harry could go to uni. That would exempt him from fighting.

The heartbeat beneath his hand remained steady and sure even as Harry took awhile to gather his response. That was alright. Louis was used to it. The quiet deliberation, the pause as thoughts were formed into melodic sentences. A few minutes later, a quiet slip of air between lips warned him to pay attention.

“Because there are things in this world that are bigger than ourselves, Lou,” Harry finally said. “Things that are worth fighting for.”

“Things that are worth dying for?” Louis asked, realizing he was standing on some kind of precarious ledge and there was only a long way down at his feet.

Harry’s heartbeat skipped a half beat but then steadied again. “Yes.”

If he wanted to push it, he could. But that path only led to misery and pain, and so Louis dropped it.

“I think Mr. Darcy was about to say something incredibly rude,” Louis said, withdrawing his hand from Harry’s chest to rest back on his own belly.

“However did you guess?” Harry laughed, but it was tinged with something Louis didn’t want to examine. There was a seriousness in his voice that hadn’t been there three minutes ago. Louis vowed then not to ruin any more of the days they had left together, however many that would be. They were to be cherished.

As he began reading once more, Harry reached down for Louis’ hand and brought it back up to cover his heart.

**~~~**

It was another three days before they could go to their roof once more. Daisy had fallen ill with a cough that was more a bother than a worry. The sickness made her feel just poorly enough to make her cantankerous and not enough to keep her quiet. Still, Louis did not like leaving them when they weren’t well.

His and Harry’s paths rarely crossed during the day. Louis was in the shop right after he made sure the girls were fed and he came home long after dinner. Harry worked as well, spending most of his days in Robin’s office.

There was an ache in Louis’ chest when they couldn’t meet at night because of that, though. It shouldn’t be there. That’s not what a lad felt for another lad, not what a best mate felt for another best mate. But if he didn’t speak about it to anyone, Louis could pretend it didn’t exist.

At the sound of Harry’s knock the pressure that had been building against his chest eased.

When he made noises about staying with the girls even though Daisy was well on the road to recovery, Lottie touched the back of his wrist.

“Go, Lou,” Lottie said and there was a knowingness in her voice that Louis shied away from. He turned his face in case there was something written on it. If he had to guess, he would say he wasn’t good at hiding his emotions there because he’d never learned how. For him, emotions were told through caught breaths and racing hearts and the sound of shifting bodies. For others, the delicate muscles around the eyes, around the mouth, told the stories. He hoped his weren’t there for everyone to read.

He pushed the thoughts away and stood up to let Harry in. He’d only just opened the door before the boy’s arms were around him, his giant paws pressing tight against Louis’ shoulder blades. “I missed you, Lou.”

Louis wanted to laugh it off, but Harry’s heat and his smell--vanilla and peaches tonight-- were all around him and it had been only three days. How was he supposed to survive when Harry left him to go fight?

Lottie cleared her throat behind them and Harry stiffened. Louis wondered if they were sharing a look and he didn’t want to consider that. “Night Lots,” he called, pushing against Harry’s chest so that he’d back out of the small flat.

The stairs were familiar and easy to navigate, the path to their building well-worn. Harry tapped his arm once to get him to turn, gripped his shoulder to stop him, slid fingers along his back to get him to move again. It was a dance, smooth and almost unnoticeable if Louis didn’t burn in every place Harry touched him.

The air was cool and Louis’ thin Henley did little to protect him. So instead of lying perpendicular tonight, with his head on Harry’s stomach, Louis curled into his side to absorb some of his heat. It was intimate, but not more so than the times they’d tangled together in sleep, their mouths so close they’d breathe each other’s air, their hips cradling each other’s, their knees slotted into the empty spaces between legs. Maybe that was different because they’d been younger, but Louis didn’t think about it. He just rested his head against the concave of Harry’s shoulder and soaked up the warmth. How many nights like this would he have?

Harry’s breathing changed, just a little bit, like he was trying to control it and failing. Then his arm came around Louis hauling him even closer until Louis was all but draped across Harry’s chest, his thigh pressed against Harry’s.

Louis was thankful for the cover of night because his cheeks must have flamed red. His own heart was skittering wildly, and he hoped Harry was not quite as attuned as he was to the different paces and what they signified.

“What are we reading tonight?” Louis asked and was surprised by the even sound of his own voice. He’d thought it might have been choked and unpleasant with the way his throat had suddenly gone so dry.

“Umm, I thought.” Harry cut himself off and Louis knew to wait. “I was thinking about, um, what we talked about.”

Harry leaving.

Louis murmured something that could be taken as encouragement to continue.

“I thought maybe I could read you a poem,” Harry said, these words coming out faster. Like he was nervous.

“Of course, love,” Louis rushed to reassure him. Only in the beginning, when Harry had first started writing, had he been nervous to share his poetry with Louis. It hadn’t taken long for the boy to grow more comfortable, to grow more confident. Louis didn’t credit himself with many things in life, but he thought if his encouragement had been partly responsible for Harry’s blossoming that was something he would be proud of for a very long time. “You know I love your poetry.”

Harry hummed, happy again, his muscles relaxing beneath Louis, the tension gone out of him. Louis wondered at it but didn’t dwell. He just waited as Harry shifted to pull something out of his pocket.

“It’s rough,” Harry warned and Louis tapped his fingers against the boy’s sternum in warning. Don’t put yourself down, love. He’d said it enough times he didn’t need to give voice to it.

He heard Harry’s answering smile in the his voice as he began to read. Louis laid his hand flat against the boy’s chest, above his heart.  
  
“We’re still young,” Harry started. “We don’t know where we’re going, but we know where we belong. Oh, we started. Just two hearts in one home. It’s hard when we argue, we’re both stubborn, I know.”

Everything in Louis stilled. The way Harry was reading the poem it was almost like a song, sweetly sung to a lover underneath the stars.

“Remember we were running through the garden where nothing bothered us, but we’re still young,” Harry continued as if Louis’ world wasn’t falling apart. “Sweet creature. Oh sweet creature. Wherever I go, you bring me home. Sweet creature. Oh sweet creature. When I run out of road, you bring me home.”

Harry’s heart was racing beneath his palm, and Louis had to swallow three times before he could make his tongue work. “That was beautiful, Haz.”

“Yeah?” The question was hesitant, searching.

If Harry for even one second thought Louis didn’t love the poem, he would never forgive himself. Especially if that reason was because Louis could barely form words any longer. “My favorite one yet,” Louis said and Harry let out a carefully held breath.

They were both quiet then and Louis couldn’t stop hearing the words in Harry’s sweet syrupy voice. He burrowed deeper into Harry’s shoulder. “Who.” He stopped. Cleared his throat. “Who was that about?”

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. Despite the way the words fit around him and what they were to each other like a well-tailored jacket, it wasn’t about him. Those were words for a lover, not a best friend, not a brother. But he hadn’t been able to stop the question before it spilled from his lips.

Harry tensed again and gently, so gently, nudged Louis’ hand away from his heart. Louis wanted to push back, reclaim his spot, but Harry was entitled to his secrets. So he let his fingers fall against the soft curve of the boy’s belly instead.

“It’s an idea, more than a person,” Harry finally said, and even though Louis had been expecting it the confirmation hurt, deep in his gut where hope lived, a tiny little flame that refused to be extinguished.

There was a stupid rush of tears to his eyes that he refused to let fall. That would be mortifying, because Harry would ask why he was crying and Louis could hardly say it was because of him.

He breathed in deep, which he immediately realized as a mistake. The scent of Harry flooded his senses, and Louis shifted away a bit so that he could get some fresh air. He didn’t go far before Harry was pulling him back in, even closer. Louis wanted to beg, wanted to plead for him to let go so he could regroup, so he could regain some control. At the same time he wanted to beg, he wanted to plead for Harry to pull him closer, ever closer. To never let him go.

You bring me home.

His body had stiffened enough for Harry to notice. “Lou?” He asked, his own voice thick with something Louis couldn’t identify.

There was nothing he could say to justify what he was feeling. “You can’t leave, Haz. Don’t leave me.”

“Anything,” Harry said. “Ask me anything but that.”

They were at an impasse and Louis wished he wasn’t so weak as to bring it up in the first place. What Harry wanted to do was heroic. For God and Country. It was unfair to ask him to give that up just for Louis.

Again they dropped quiet, the air thick with unsaid words and promises and thoughts. Harry rubbed small circles into Louis’ shoulder blades and Louis let the boy’s skilled hands ease him off the emotional edge.

“Lou,” Harry ventured after some time had passed. Louis no longer felt the urgent desire to burst into tears. “When can we go to Brighton?”

Louis hadn’t forgotten the trip, but he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. Now he thought about it. “Mondays are slow,” he said, considering. “We could go then.”

It was in four days. Lottie would watch the shop and maybe even Fizzy could help, now that she was getting older. Zayn would be dismissive but the shrug would be in his voice and he would take care of things.

“Can we really?” And all at once Harry’s voice was that of a little kid’s being promised a treat.

“Of course, love,” Louis said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Harry hummed and it seemed the intense emotions of moments ago had dissolved into forgotten wisps carried off by the light breeze that brushed against their skin. “I want to see the sea.”

“And we’ll get ice cream,” Louis said.

“And go to a concert?” Harry asked.

“Without a doubt.”

“Will we dance on the pier?” Harry’s voice had turned dreamy, and Louis pictured it. Pictured himself in Harry’s arms as the tang of ocean air and the lights from the arcade and the delicate music turned the scene into poetry. Louis wouldn’t be able to see it, but he could feel it. Feel the vibrations in the boards beneath his feet, smell the freshness of the sea, hear the bells and whistles as fellow day-trippers won prizes off of the games.

That’s not what Harry meant, though, of course. He wouldn’t mean they should dance like girls and boys danced together. He must mean something else. Louis smiled anyway and hoped Harry could feel it where his face was nestled into his ribcage. “I will fight anyone who tries to stop us.”

Harry giggled and Louis knew it wasn’t mocking the idle threat. It was joy, it was anticipation, it was happiness.

Just one day. Louis could give him that.


	2. Chapter 2

**~~~**

**CHAPTER TWO**

**~~~**

Lottie walked Louis to Anne and Robin’s place early Monday morning.

Harry was waiting on his front stoop, Louis could tell from the shouted greeting, but Anne got to him first, folding Louis into her embrace. She smelled of lavender and home, forever a reminder that she and Jay called themselves the mutual mummies.

“Hi baby,” she murmured into his hair and he held on for a second longer than he normally would have. He was too raw these days. He didn’t like it.

When he finally pulled back, Anne hesitated, maintaining the contact for a moment longer. _Mum cried last night._ Harry’s words came back to him then, and Louis grabbed at her hands just as she was about to let them drop. If anyone else felt this shadow, this constant fear, it was her. They both loved Harry the most in the world.

Anne cleared her throat and Harry was uncharacteristically silent at his side. When she spoke though, her voice was happy and light. “Alright babies, let me get a photograph of you before you leave.”

“Mummm,” Harry groaned, but Louis wanted it. God he wanted it. This moment. Them. Captured.

“Come on,” he murmured to Harry, his fingers brushing the pulse point in Harry’s wrist. The boy laughed and grumbled but they moved in tandem until Harry was resting up against Robin’s car, his arms wrapped around Louis’ chest, pulling him tight against his own.

Louis leaned back into it, and Harry rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder. There was a bit of peppermint on his breath and Louis wanted to turn into it, tip his head back so that he could taste those lips.

“Smile, babies,” Anne cried from the stoop, breaking the spell. It was a blessing because, lost as he was in the warmth of Harry’s body, his scent, it had been a close thing to forgetting himself. Forgetting where they were and who they were.

He shook himself out of it, shoving his hands in his pockets so as not to touch, and smiled. There might have been a pop of a flash, but he stayed still until Harry moved, just in case, so he didn’t ruin the picture.

It didn’t take long to bundle their supplies into the back of Robin’s car after that, and then they were on the road, Harry behind the wheel and Louis tucked in across the bench from him against the passenger side door.

“Who will we be today, Lou?” Harry asked a while later a smile in his voice at the familiar words. From the freshness of the air outside the window Louis thought they may have cleared London.

The question was as familiar as Harry himself was to Louis. Two Princes on a royal visit from some country with an unpronounceable name. Knights in Scotland rescuing fair lasses during the Middle Ages. Lords in the Regent’s court.

But today. Today Louis wanted to claim as his own.

“Can we be Harry and Louis, today?” Louis asked. If it had been anyone other than Harry he would have felt stupid, but with Harry he could say anything. “Just us. Just for today.”

There was a catch in Harry’s easy breathing. In the moment of silence that followed Louis wondered if he had, in fact, said something stupid.

But then Harry spoke. “Yeah, Lou,” he said. “Yes. I think that would be perfect.”   

Louis flinched in surprise when Harry’s hand brushed against his, and he held absolutely still hoping he hadn’t startled Harry into pulling back. But Harry simply locked their pinkies together without saying anything further. They drove like that until the air turned rich with the scent of the sea, and Louis tried not to think about what it meant. Tried not to let that little light of hope in his belly grow into a wild fire.

They didn’t talk about it. In fact, they didn’t talk at all for most of the drive, content in each other’s presence. Or it might have been that Louis wasn’t his best in the mornings, and Harry had borne the brunt of his grumpiness enough times to leave him alone before he got his cuppa.

Which was their first stop after they parked in Brighton. Tea for him, coffee for Harry.

It didn’t take long to find, but everything was just a bit harder in the new environment and his steps turned from sure and confident to hesitant and careful. Nothing was familiar, so it took more time.

Harry was there, though. Not hovering, but watching. Ready to help if needed. His hand was sure when he steadied Louis after he tripped on a loose board, but then he easily let him go once Louis had righted himself. His voice guided Louis past swarms of ladies tittering loudly over nothing, and tantrum-throwing toddlers whose emotions were already fraying thin. With Harry, Louis felt safe, not broken.

They didn’t linger in the diner, because Harry was all but vibrating with excitement to be out. To be doing, to be seeing.

“You are an overgrown child,” Louis pushed at his shoulder and Harry just laughed and then all of a sudden he was in the boy’s arms, crushed to his chest. They were spinning and spinning and spinning and Louis squealed in a very unmanly way, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders.

“Harold,” he shouted, but his own laughter turned the warning into encouragement. “Haroldddddd.”

“Louuuuu,” Harry yelled back, and they must be drawing looks, but still Harry didn’t put him down. It was only when Louis stopped fighting and gave into the helpless giggles, burying his head in Harry’s neck, did the boy slow.

“Everyone will think we’ve gone mad,” Louis said as Harry finally put him back on his feet.

“Will they be wrong, though?” Harry’s thumb brushed along his cheekbone and Louis’ head went fuzzy in a way that had nothing to do with the dizziness from going in circles. The gentle touch was gone, just as fast as it had come.

“Speak for yourself, pal,” Louis pushed at him, wanting to put space between their bodies. Harry let him, but then snagged his arm, pulling him along, and Louis went willingly, ready to follow Harry wherever he wanted to go.

Harry carried on a constant--mostly one-sided--conversation the whole morning. About the shops, about the people, about the gulls that cawed and battled over dropped food.

When they reached the Royal Pavilion, Harry dropped silent and for a moment Louis was disoriented. He scrambled for Harry, needing the contact to ground him. And Harry was immediately there, his fingers tangling with Louis’, squeezing once before their joined hands dropped into the space between them.

“Tell me,” Louis demanded, because whatever it was had caught Harry’s attention fully.

“It’s gorgeous, Lou,” Harry breathed, the awe in his voice slowing his already careful cadence. “It’s all white and harsh, but soft at the same time? Like clouds made into a building. The roof is rounded and there are these spindle columns running the length of it. I feel like I’m in India.”

Louis smiled trying to imagine a building made of clouds. He didn’t mind if it wasn’t even close to the reality laid out before them. He was seeing it through Harry’s eyes and that’s what really mattered.

He leaned into his boy as Harry continued on about the flowers and the reflecting pond, and those were easier to picture. The scent of them had reached him first anyway; the perfume of summer roses, the freshness of pond water layered over the ocean in the air.

They strolled for a bit around the grounds, their hands still interlocked, palms just a bit sweaty. Louis didn’t want to draw attention to it, and Harry didn’t seem inclined to let go.

But then Harry stiffened, his arm going tense where it was pressed against Louis’. A group of young boys had just walked by, Louis could tell by the chatter and bawdy talk in voices that hadn’t quite dropped yet.

“What happened?” Louis asked. He must have missed something.

Harry squeezed his hand. “Nothin.”

“Haz, I know something happened.” There was anger in Harry’s voice but not panic, so whatever it had been, it wasn’t a threat. Still, Louis wasn’t the type to let things go.

“You know for a blind person, you see way too much,” Harry said and Louis smirked. “Um.”

Louis thought about the way Harry’s fingers had tightened around his. “They said something about us.”

Harry sighed. “Um. Yes.”

“Us holding hands,” Louis said, and would have stepped back, stepped away had Harry not kept him in place.

“Fuck them, Lou.” Harry pulled him even closer, tugging until Louis’ head was on his chest. “They don’t know anything about us.”

People in their neighborhood never thought twice about them. Harry could touch the small of his back, could wrap him in his arms, could hold his hand. Louis could touch Harry’s face, rest his body against Harry’s, grasp at his bicep. And no one would care.

But here. Here where people didn’t know Louis was blind and Harry was his best friend, those easy touches became dangerous.

He’d been quiet too long for Harry. The boy nuzzled into the soft spot behind his ear. “Don’t let them ruin this. Please.”

Just one day.

Louis curled his hand into a fist until it hurt and wished life was different. The funny thing was, in the deepest hours of the night, it wasn’t his sight he longed for when he dreamed. No, if he could have anything, all he ever wanted was to be Harry’s and for Harry to be his.

“Fuck them, Haz,” Louis repeated and the tension drained out of Harry. He waited until it was all gone, before he shuffled back a bit. “But let’s be more careful, yeah? Just because we know what we are to each other doesn’t mean everyone else won’t draw the wrong conclusions.”

There was a long pause and Louis almost reached out again. He’d gotten so comfortable in their daily lives, their neighborhood, the garage, the abandoned building, that he’d forgotten how hard it was to be somewhere new. This time Harry didn’t reach out to reassure him.

“Yeah, of course.” It was an agreement, but there was an edge to the words Louis didn’t like.

He wanted to soothe it, but he didn’t know how. Didn’t know what he’d done to make Harry sound like that. So he changed the topic. “Come on, ice cream time, yeah?”

Harry touched his shoulder lightly to guide him, but didn’t try to take his hand again. “I want sprinkles, Lou. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Louis smiled. As if he would ever.

**~~~**

They settled onto the beach a few hours later, when Harry’s energy flagged in the mid-afternoon sun.

Although calling it a beach would be generous. It was really a bed of pebbles that pressed into all the vulnerable spots on Louis’ feet. Harry’s curses signaled that he wasn’t faring much better. Harry, and his long, uncoordinated limbs, were a mess in the best circumstances, so he could only imagine what the boy looked like now.

“Shut up.” Harry could always tell where his thoughts had gone. Louis just laughed harder, but then paid for it when he stepped wrong and his ankle rolled.

Harry was there before he even stumbled, let alone hit the ground. His warm hand cupping Louis’ elbow, his other against Louis’ back. “Whoa.”

“I deserved to fall,” Louis said and Harry murmured an agreement. But then they both sort of helped each other until they found a free space amongst the crush of bodies. Harry had brought a thick blanket with them, and it almost made the pebbles bearable.

They stretched out beneath the sun with their shoulders pressed together. Louis breathed in deep, the smell of sand and sea and sweaty bodies and chips and always, always, vanilla, curling around him. Exotic and familiar at once.

The waves crashing against the shore were a lullaby, the warmth on their faces a caress to ease them into sleep.

When Louis woke up, he realized his arm was slung over Harry’s stomach. Louis’ groin was pressed against warm thigh and everything about it was too much when he was feeling so drowsy and soft and happy. He rolled away.

“Lou.” Harry’s voice was scratchy and sleep-rough. It wasn’t something Louis knew how to process despite the millions of times he’d heard it just like that.

He pressed a balled hand against his own sternum to keep from reaching for Harry. It had been years, this constant thrum in his blood, this need to hold and love and touch. But it wasn’t always this hard not to let it all slip out.

Harry was leaving, though. For how long, none of them knew. Louis refused to let his mind touch on the idea that it was forever.

It made everything urgent and raw and sharp. Where this desire before had been a gentle throb without intent behind it, now it was a desperate clawing beast that was scared it would never get the chance again. Where this love before had been sure and syrupy and dreamy, now it was a brutal thing that’s edges had turned jagged and painful.

“We fell asleep,” Louis said for lack of anything more sensible.

Harry laughed, a low huff of air. “Yeah.”

Warm metal was pressed into his hand and Louis realized it was the small canteen of water they’d brought. He gulped at the liquid, desperate to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

“I’d like to live by the sea,” Harry said.

Louis leaned into him a bit, just to check his position. He’d sat up with Louis, and tucked his knees against his chest, his arms looped around his shins. Louis passed the water back and then mirrored the pose, resting his face against his upraised kneecaps.

“You’d want to leave London?”

“Mmmhmm,” Harry hummed. “I kind of picture this little cottage. Like in a pretty pastel color. There would be a garden, too, where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Maybe in Cornwall or along the west coast. On the outskirts of a little village. Close enough to make it easy to buy milk, but far enough away that we’ll have our own space.”

Louis swallowed. “We?”

It was moments like this that he cursed his blindness. He would give anything to see Harry’s face. Because Harry couldn’t mean what it sounded like he meant. He couldn’t. A life where he and Louis were a we. That was for lovers. Not best friends.

The silence stretched between them, and with each passing second Louis’ fingers itched more with the need to trace over Harry’s expression. Instead he bit at an already ragged nail in an effort to keep his hands to himself.

Finally, finally, Harry shifted. Took a deep breath. 

“There will never be a time for me when you and I aren’t a we, Louis,” Harry said.

And everything...stopped. Everything tilted--the sun, the ocean, the world, the reality that Louis had known his whole life--and then in the next heartbeat everything right itself once more. 

Perhaps he could brush it off--it had been just cryptic enough that Louis could misread it if he wanted to. They'd always be best mates. Always.

But it didn't sound like that was what Harry was saying. And hope might be a dangerous thing, but it burned so brightly in Louis' belly. This was more than he'd ever thought he'd get. Even that vow, he could live off that vow the rest of his life. 

“That sounds lovely,” Louis said once he was sure his voice would be steady. His body ached with it, this barely spoken thing between them, this fragile confession of dreams shared and a future imagined together. “Tell me more. Please.”

So Harry did, in that easy way of his. As if forever were a given, one that didn't require equivocations or hesitancies or half-truths. His beautiful, open boy. “You’d have a garage in the village, of course. And everyone would know you’re the best mechanic around and they would come from miles and miles to get you to work on their cars. I would set up a little office in the corner of the cottage, in the room with a big window overlooking the sea. I would write poems and get them published in shitty little magazines that no one reads, but you would frame the good ones.”

“Then I would frame them all,” Louis interrupted, quietly.

When Harry smiled this time, Louis reached over and pressed his thumb into the dimple. His knuckle brushed Harry’s lips when he let his hand drop and Harry chased the feeling for the smallest moment.

“The animals in the village would love us, because we’d sneak them sausages when they came to visit us for breakfast. We’d have a table outside, so that when we had our coffee we could hear the waves. Then they would walk you into the village.”

“The animals?” Louis smiled softly at the image of himself as a Snow White of sorts with a little menagerie trailing behind.

“Little birds would help you dress in the morning,” Harry said, and Louis could tell he was trying to sound serious. Then he broke and started laughing.

The amusement between them faded gently and Louis wondered what was showing on his face. He was barely controlling his breathing, so he guessed he wasn’t doing a good job at controlling anything else.

It was just that Louis hated how easily he could picture it. This quiet little life that he wanted more than he wanted oxygen.

“The girls could come visit us.” Harry leaned into him a bit. “But they’d have their own lives, you know?”  
  
Louis nodded.

“They’d bring their kids to visit, though. And Gemma would, too,” Harry continued. “And we’d be their favorite uncles because we’d toss them into the waves and sneak them candy drops and let them stay up late to watch the stars.”

And it was just ... too much. Too painful and too beautiful and too perfect and too impossible. A wave of desperation crashed against him, pressed into all the bruises and soft spots. A ragged gasp that sounded too much like a sob escaped Louis’ lips and he pressed them tight to try to keep anything else back. It was too late, though. Harry heard.

“Lou.” Harry’s hands were on him, pulling him back down to the blanket. They turned into each other. Always, always, always, seeking each other. Always moving closer. 

Harry’s palm was against Louis’ ribs, rubbing soothing circles to try to calm the erratic rise and fall. Meanwhile, Louis pressed his face into Harry’s neck, his mouth against the silky skin there.

They held on for a long time. And all Louis could concentrate on was the beat of Harry's heart, the feel of his soft hair brushing against Louis' face, the solidness of his hip and the gentle rhythm of his hand against Louis' back. Cataloguing each caress, each sensation, each moment, was the only thing that was keeping the tears at bay.

_There will never be a time for me when you and I aren’t a we._

Everything hurt now. And Louis almost wanted to go back, back to when this was an impossibility. When there wasn’t a cottage and a lovely life and children and animals and breakfasts by the sea. Wanting it when it was a dream, wanting it when there was no chance of having it, was painful. But knowing he could have it, and probably never would was torture.

“Harry,” Louis finally said, his voice turned gravel with every emotion that had existed before or ever would exist. He needed Harry to know. He needed Harry to know that even though it hurt so, so much, this was all he had ever wanted, it was all he had been terrified to wish he could have.

“Yeah, Lou?”

“I think I’d really like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**~~~**

**CHAPTER THREE**

**~~~**

By some mutual agreement, or some mutual fear, they didn’t talk about it when they got back to London. It was almost like Brighton had been a dream, one that meant too much, one that would fall apart at the seams if they examined it too closely.

They still had their nights on the roof, still had soft touches and inside jokes. Easy laughter and comfortable silences.

But something had shifted. Something had changed between them and it could never go back to the way it was.

_There will never be a time for me when you and I aren’t a we._

Louis spent far too many hours examining far too closely what exactly that meant to him during the long days he spent beneath the hoods of cars.

Even Zayn noticed. “Mate, what’s up with you?”

Louis shrugged and continued sliding his fingers along the cool metal, searching out the rupture he knew was there. “Nothing.”

Zayn sniffed, and Louis knew he was debating how far he should push. “Is it about Harry?”

Louis froze. That they were close wasn’t a secret, but Louis wondered how much people suspected. “He’s signing up the day after his 18th birthday.”

“Shit,” Zayn muttered, and Louis heard him slide in under the car next to the one Louis was working on. “That’s in two days right?”

“Yes,” Louis whispered. Which meant Harry would be gone in three.

There was a clatter and then a muffled curse. Then Zayn’s somewhat distant voice. “‘Lo ma’am.”

“Zayn,” Anne greeted him, and Louis listened to the staccato of heels on the floor as she got closer.

He wiped his grease-stained hands on what he hoped was a clean rag, but made a note to himself not to touch her at all.

“Louis,” she said to let him know where she was. He adjusted a bit.

He smiled, despite the fact that he was caught off guard. This was the first time she’d come to the garage. If there was something wrong with their car, Robin usually dropped it off. And not even Harry stopped by just to chat, knowing how busy they usually were. “Ma’am.”

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” she said. “I wanted to give you this.”

She took his hand, and held firm when he tried to flinch away. “Grease,” he murmured.

“They’re clean,” she reassured him. And then he realized what he was now holding. “It’s the photograph from that morning you boys went to Brighton. I had the shop make three copies. One for me, one for you and one for Harry. To take with him.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and sucked his lower lip into his mouth at the sudden stab of pain. He ran a fingertip along the edges of the glossy paper to get the size right, and then traced down until where their faces must be. There was nothing there to feel but the vise around his heart unclenched enough for the blood to start pumping again when he touched the spot.

Anne filled the sudden silence. “I know you can’t. I mean I know it won’t do you much good...”

“No.” Louis slapped the photo against his chest as if she were about to take it away. The panic in his voice startled her enough to stop talking. “I mean. Thank you. I... thank you.”

“It’s lovely, Lou,” Anne said, her voice gentle, soothing. “You should see his smile in it. And yours, too.”

Her thumb darted out to catch the tear that escaped, and he let her, both hands still clutching the photo to his chest. “And he has one?”

“I’m giving it to him for his birthday, but yes he will.” Anne stepped back. “Which brings me to the other reason I stopped by. We’re doing a nice dinner on Wednesday night. We’d like you to come to celebrate.”

The night before Harry was leaving. “Yes, of course, thank you.”

“Harry is already planning on what cake to make.” There was a smile in the way she said it, and Louis couldn’t help but respond in kind. Harry was a bit particular about his skills as a baker. In that he thought he was a secret prodigy. “The girls are more than welcome to come as well.”

Louis shook his head. Lottie could watch them for one night, if this was to be his last with Harry for a while. “Just me.”

There was a beat of silence. “Alright. We’ll see you at six, then.”

“Anne,” he stopped her when he could tell she’d already taken a few steps away. He tapped his fingers against the back of the photo to draw her attention to it. “Thank you. Again.”

“Of course, love.” Anne said. Her breath hitched a bit. “You make him very happy.”

**~~~**

Louis made the short trip by himself. He had his stick, and the route was as familiar as the lines on his palm, so there were no incidents. This would be the new norm, though, with Harry gone. He’d better get used to it.

The door was wrenched open less than ten seconds after Louis knocked. It was Harry who answered, smelling of not only vanilla but sugar and flour and sweetness as well. Louis wondered if some was smeared along his cheek, if he had streaks of white powder in his hair.

“Happy birthday, Haz,” Louis smiled and it didn’t take long for Harry’s body to crash into his own. Deftly, Harry maneuvered the stick out of the way to rest somewhere near the door without actually letting go of Louis.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry whispered from where his face was buried in the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis pet at his hair, and they just stood there for far longer than either of them would like to admit.

When they pulled apart, Harry hesitated a moment, his body partly blocking the way. Louis’ rose a brow in question.

“Can we not be sad tonight?” Harry finally asked.

Oh. That broke Louis’ heart. “Happy days, Haz, yeah? We’re celebrating you! Come on, show me what you baked us.”

Harry’s fingers curled around Louis’ bicep, digging into the flesh there. “Mum’s upset. Just. I thought you should be prepared.”

Louis’ touched a fingertip to the delicate skin at the base of Harry’s thumb. “We can’t have that, now can we? Not on your birthday.”

The number of times he’d made the trek from the door to the kitchen was countless, so he took off without waiting for Harry. The boy quickly caught up with him anyway, rubbing a knuckle against the back of Louis’ neck. Goosebumps erupted in the path behind the gentle caress, and Louis chewed on the side of his lip to hide his delighted grin.

“Louis,” Gemma called when he stepped into the dining room. She was a bit away, from the sound of her voice, but it didn’t take long until he was in her arms. Chanel No. 5 and cigarettes. It was her perfume of choice because it made her feel like an elegant French lady, and it helped to cover the lingering stench of smoke.

“Hi, brat,” Louis said with complete affection. At one point in their lives, it had been Harry and Louis’ mission to be a thorn in Gemma’s side. That time had long passed, though.

“She’s sticking her tongue out at you, Lou,” Harry faux whispered. “She’s very mature, you know.”

“Haz, are my fingers doing something right now? I can’t tell,” he smirked in Harry’s direction and the boy cackled in his way that was both ugly and beautiful.

“They’re gonna get stuck that way,” Gemma muttered.

“Louis!” Anne scolded from just beyond the room. Louis dropped his hand, pressing his lips together to hide his smile.

“Sorry ma’am,” he called in to her, as Harry crashed into him, giggling so hard it was almost soundless.

“You’re supposed to watch my back, mate.” Louis pretend shoved at him, but in actuality kept his grip tight around Harry’s wrist, keeping him where he was.

“Boys.” There was an eye roll in Gemma’s voice, and her shoes slapped against the ground like she was stomping off in a strop.

“You flicked off mum,” Harry said, wheezing out the words between fading laughter. Louis grimaced, but Harry’s voice was no longer sad and strained. So it was really a small price to pay.

“Are they gone?” Louis asked, so low only Harry would be able to hear.

The boy stilled and then nodded his head against Louis’ shoulder. Louis nuzzled into the spot behind Harry’s ear. “The roof tonight?”

He didn’t have to place his hand against Harry’s chest to know his heart was racing. “Yes,” Harry whispered back, and the promise added fuel to the little light in his belly.

Tonight was for impossibilities, not reality.

They didn’t say anything more, didn’t have to, just turned toward the kitchen and the enticing scent of roast and potatoes.

Dinner followed the tone Louis had set when he arrived. It was full of banter and laughter and old stories that had been told far too many times.

“And then, and then, Gemma had to rescue Harry from the tree because he couldn’t get back down,” Anne was crying she was laughing so hard. It wasn’t that the story was that funny, but they were all drunk off the energy, the giddy memories like champagne bubbles in their bloodstream.

“I was just taking a rest before making my way down,” Harry defended himself, a pout in his voice. But his hand was resting light and easy on the back of Louis’ chair, his fingers twisting in the too-long strands at the nape of Louis’ neck.

Louis remembered it differently. The boy had climbed the tree to rescue a cat who hadn’t in fact been stuck. Once the tabby darted off, Harry had been stranded, clinging to the thin limb. Gemma had to pry his fingers from the bark before she could get him down.

Leaning in toward Harry while the others carried the conversation into another story, Louis dropped his voice so as not to interrupt them. “You know the important thing, Haz?”

“What’s that?” There was a smile in Harry’s voice, like he thought Louis was about to take the piss.

“That you went up to save the cat even though you’re scared of heights.”

Harry sighed a bit. “It wasn’t a choice.”

Well, wasn’t that the crux of the matter? “And that’s what makes you, you.”

“Lou.” Harry sucked in a breath as if he were about to say something. But then they were interrupted.

“Presents,” Anne cried out. “Leave the dishes, I’ll get them later.”

They mumbled weak protests, but took their wine glasses over to the parlour, and soon Louis was settled into the couch, his leg pressed against Harry’s thigh. The warmth from the contact pulsed through him like gentle waves.

The heavy food and alcohol were working against him, and he floated through most of the gifts. They were mostly practical anyway, and by the time Harry opened his third pair of socks the happy mood from dinner was all but gone. Everyone tried to keep the laughter going, but there was an edge to it since they all knew it was a facade.  

“Thanks, mum,” Harry murmured, and Louis knew it was another shit present in the way the boy’s shoulders slumped against his. They all knew it, which was maybe why Anne called on him next.

“Louis, we’re monopolizing this, why don’t you go.” Her voice was tight, strained. Louis thought if he could see her face that she would be on the verge of tears. But as much as he wanted to salvage the moment, he very much did not want to give Harry’s gift to him in front of his entire family.

So he hedged. “Um, I actually forgot it,” he said, knowing it sounded like he didn’t have one at all. A blush rode along the edges of his cheekbones, he could feel the heat of it. Fuck. There was no good option here.

“Oh that’s fine, dear, that’s fine,” Anne rushed to cover the awkward silence that dropped after his announcement. “I have something…”

Harry brushed a knuckle against the back of Louis’ hand. Quiet comfort. Louis let his finger hook around Harry’s for one moment, trying to tell him. It would be worth the wait. He hoped. Harry hummed in response and Louis thought he might understand.  

“Here, baby,” Anne said, and there was the rustle of paper. She cupped Louis’ face as she passed and Louis knew what the gift was. The photograph.

He stilled completely, needing to listen, needing to hear Harry’s reaction. The boy’s leg tensed against his a moment later and there was a little break in his even breathing.

“Lou,” Harry whispered, but it echoed in the tiny living room and Louis felt raw and exposed. He barely understood what was happening between him and Harry, and now they were on display for the world to see. It was too much all of a sudden and Louis wanted to tear at the bandages he knew were not covering his eyes. There were no bandages.

He stood up, too abruptly and wobbled with the clumsiness of such a quick movement. Harry steadied him, but Louis didn’t want that right now. Couldn’t take it. “Excuse me,” he said, the shredded glass in his throat turning his voice rough.

“Of course,” Anne murmured to his back as he left the room with as much dignity as he could manage. He knew the house well, but not as well as his own. There would be no storming out, no running away. The steps he took were measured, even though he was barely keeping from falling apart at the seams. The injustice of it just added another layer to the emotional knot tangled in his gut.

He found the bathroom and once he was safely inside, he leaned his forehead against the smooth surface of the mirror. It was cool against his heated skin. Seconds later there was a knock, but Harry didn’t wait for him to open the door.

“Louis.” His voice was wrecked, thick with tears and worry and something Louis couldn’t identify.

Then Louis’ back was up against the wall, with Harry crowding in around him. Vanilla. And sugar. And something a little earthier slipped underneath to make it interesting. It was so much. It was Harry.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Harry whispered, his lips a breath away from Louis’. “Tell me now and I swear I’ll pretend it never happened.”

Harry’s thumb traced Louis’ jawline then slipped down his throat to brush against his Adam’s Apple. His pulse hammered beneath it.

Louis should stop him. He knew he should stop him. This, whatever it was, had only one end. Harry was leaving tomorrow. Nothing he could do would stop the boy, and Louis would be left shattered into pieces on the floor. It was hard enough when they were just best friends. Losing his lover would be devastating beyond measure.

Losing Harry. After getting to taste him. To hold him. To call him his for the night. Well, he didn’t know if he could recover from that.

He didn’t say anything, though. Just tilted his mouth up, shifted his hips closer. And then Harry’s lips were on his. Warm and dry and everything. Everything Louis had ever wanted.

His fingers curled into the fabric of Harry’s thin shirt, and God he wanted to feel skin. Just as he had the thought, Harry’s hand slipped beneath Louis’ Henly to find the small of his back, to bring Louis flush up against his body. Harry’s pinky rested just at the waistband of Louis’ pants and he moaned into the boy’s mouth.

As he did, Harry took the opportunity to slide his tongue against Louis’ lips, and he opened for him, easy for it. And then there was heat and silk and lust, wild and uncontrolled.

It was perfect. So perfect. He was overwhelmed by it, wanted more and couldn’t take it at the same time.

The little whimper that escaped his throat broke the trance, and Harry pulled back. His breathing was ragged, and he rested his forehead against Louis’. His hand was still warm on Louis’ lower back, an anchor in this emotional storm.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. And Louis couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“Yeah.”

“We should talk,” the boy said, and his fingers trailed along Louis’ skin before dropping away. Louis immediately missed the contact.

“Not here, though.” Louis’ fingers tightened in the fabric of the shirt he still held as if he were a drowning man and it was his lifeline. Consciously, one by one he relaxed his fingers until he could smooth out the material.

“The roof,” Harry said. “I’ll make our excuses.”

“Harry,” Louis stopped him before he could leave the small confines of the bathroom. “What happened? Why now?”

He couldn’t really maneuver his thoughts into a coherent sentence, but Harry seemed to get it.

“You should see our smiles, Lou.”


	4. Chapter 4

**~~~**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**~~~**

“So.”

“So,” Harry repeated, a smile resting against his lips. Louis could tell because he’d dug his thumb into where Harry’s dimple popped out before he’d even said anything.

They hadn’t talked on the way over. It wasn’t awkward, but the silence had been loaded. Full of the promise of secrets spilled into the night; full of the desire to touch and never stop touching; full of a giddiness that couldn’t be tainted by reality.

Louis had curled into Harry’s body the moment after he’d stretched out on the roof. “It’s clear out tonight,” Harry had said. “You can see the stars.”

The memory of them, the white light against black velvet, filled him with some sort of contentment. They wouldn’t have changed in the years since he’d been able to see them, those stars. They were a constant in a life of fleeting ideas. Just like Harry.

Harry gently nudged Louis’ hand down so that it covered his heart. The beat was steady. Another constant.

“You don’t have to,” Louis started, knowing it was unfair even though Harry could read his face just as easily.

“I want you to know how I feel,” Harry said, keeping Louis’ hand where it was. “I want you to believe me.”

As if he wouldn’t. The heat rushed to his face, to his groin as he remembered the feel of Harry’s tongue against his, the press of his body, the warmth of his hand. It was strange how easy at had been, how natural. Like everything in their life had been leading up to that  moment. 

They were both quiet for a little, and Louis wondered if Harry was seeking out constellations. Louis traced one he remembered on Harry’s chest. His finger rose and dipped back down as Harry breathed deep.

“I love you, Louis,” he said, slow and deliberate.

The words were as familiar as a hug, a careless touch. “I love you,” spilled from their lips as easy as laughter did, as thoughtless as the next breath. But this time it was different. It was not the love of a boy and his friend. It was the love of a man to the one he held most dear.

Louis didn’t return the words, even though they sat ready on his tongue. He didn’t want them cheapened by a “too.” So he waited. He waited, and the cool breeze shifted around them. He waited and Harry’s ankle hooked beneath his. He waited, and his lips found the soft skin beneath Harry’s jaw.

When they’d both had enough time to bask in the glow of Harry’s vow, Louis finally spoke. “Harry?”

“Yes, Lou?” This time it wasn’t Louis’ thumb that found Harry’s dimple, but his lips.

“I love you.”

“I know,” Harry smirked, and the corner of his smile nudged at Louis’ mouth.

“Cheeky,” Louis scolded, but planted a quick peck on those sinful lips. They were plush and warm beneath his. It made him lightheaded to think he was allowed to just take, without fear of rejection.

“Says the sassmaster himself,” Harry shot back, his fingers digging into the softness at Louis’ hips. Louis squirmed, but Harry didn’t let him go far.

“When?” Louis asked, after he’d settled back into Harry. Louis nudged his nose against his boy’s chest to sink into the vanilla. There were cars below, horns and screeching tires; there were people down there too, busy and rushing and agitated. But it didn’t matter, because they had their bubble. Just the two of them. And it was Harry’s heart, and Harry’s warmth and Harry’s scent and Harry’s leg pressed against his. That’s what mattered.

His boy shrugged then, jostling Louis just a bit. “Always.”

That startled Louis enough to press his palm more firmly against Harry’s chest. “What?”

“I mean, probably I didn’t know it when we were really young,” Harry said, his slow drawl a soothing balm to Louis’ chaotic thoughts. “You know when I said there will never be a time for me when you and I aren’t together? That’s just. That’s how it’s always been.”

“But didn’t you think that as if we were just mates? That we’d always be in each other’s lives, but not like this? Right?”

There was a pause, and Louis imagined he was chewing on that bottom lip of his. “Nope,” he finally said.

A surprised laugh burst from Louis and he pressed his lips together a bit embarrassed at the sound of it. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Why not? Because Louis had agonized over it, had laid in bed thinking he was horrible and wrong and bad for lusting after Harry. His best friend. “Because good things don’t happen to me.”

“Lou.” It came out as a whimper as if Harry had been punched in the gut.  

Louis shook his head. “No. No. Don’t fucking feel sorry for me. That’s not,” he stopped. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“People say this is wrong,” he tried. Because that was the less complicated of his issues.

Harry shrugged. “What do we always say, Lou? You and me against the world. What do we say?”

“Fuck em,” Louis whispered back obediently.

“Fuck em,” Harry screamed into the night. Maybe someone heard him, maybe someone was scandalized. But Louis giggled and then Harry giggled and Louis fell even more in love when he hadn’t thought it was possible.

“There’s nothing wrong about this,” Harry tapped Louis’ chest just above his heart. “Out of all the fucked up things out there? You and me? We’re what’s right in this world.”

Everything within Louis shattered. Just shattered. For this boy, for this moment, for this love that seemed greater than everything that wanted to drag it down.

He thought he might be crying, but when was he not on the verge of tears these days? He let them come, he let them soak into Harry’s shirt, and Harry let him wipe the snot against his shoulder.

“I love you so fucking much,” Louis gasped, drunk off the freedom of finally saying those words. Finally putting voice to emotions that had held him captive for years.

Harry held him, rubbing a finger along the grooves of Louis’ spine. “When, Lou?”

And so it was his turn to cut open his heart. “Always.”

A wet laugh burst from Harry, and Louis wondered if he wasn’t the only one crying. He reached up and swiped at damp cheeks.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, ignoring Louis’ curious fingers.

“Fuck you,” Louis said. And then he tugged at Harry’s wrist. He placed the boy’s palm against his heart. “Do you feel that?”

They were quiet for a moment as Harry adjusted. “I think so?”

“When you get nervous, your heart does this little pitter patter thing,” Louis smiled thinking about it. “When you’re lying it beats really fast. When you’re telling the truth, it’s slow like the way you speak. When you’re happy it skips along like it’s happy, too.”

“But I don’t know your heart,” Harry confessed.

“You do,” Louis whispered. “It’s yours.”

A broken sob ripped itself from the back of Harry’s throat at that, and Louis curled into him “Harry. Do you know what I remember most?”

“From when you could see?” Harry asked.

Louis nodded. “My mum’s face,” he said, because he could still see the way the light caught against her cheek when she smiled. “And your eyes.”

“Lou.” It was a quiet sigh this time.

“I said always, but maybe I didn’t mean it,” Louis said. “I’ve loved you always. I have. But there’s been so much in the spaces between.”

“It was different?”

That sounded right. “Yes. When we were younger, before my blindness,” Louis started. “I loved you and it was easy. We were kids, running through the streets, in and out of each other’s pockets. I made you laugh and you made me happy. And it was just. So careless. Fun. After, I loved you and it was hard, because everything was hard. You never faltered, though.”

“No. I would never.”

Louis tapped his fingers against Harry’s chest. “You don’t get how different you were. How different you are. Everyone started treating me like I was a boy made of glass. And you just wanted to know what our next adventure was.”

Harry’s heart tripped beneath his palm. “Was that wrong?”

He paused at the absurdity of the question. “No, baby. Remember, we’re what’s right in the world.”

Harry’s fingers tightened where he held Louis’ to him. “Alright, so. When?”

Louis’ lips ticked up at the persistence. “I was 14 the first time I acknowledged to myself I wanted to kiss you. It was the year after mum married Dan, and we weren’t neighbors anymore. The boys were all playing cricket in the street and it was stupidly hot and you sat with me. I told you to go play with them and let me be, but you asked why you would do that when where you wanted to be was next to me.”

“You were where the fun was,” Harry confirmed.

Louis drew in a shaky breath. “You’d stripped down to your undershirt, and our arms brushed and it always made me, you know. Stop. But this time it was…”

“Fireworks?”

“If you want to get poetic about it,” Louis smirked. “Was thinking something a little more … graphic.”

Harry gasped. “You got a hard-on?”

“No, bloody hell,” Louis laughed. “But there was, um, how should I say? Movement.”

That seemed to send Harry off into some kind of fit of laughter and coughing, and Louis couldn’t help the rush of affection. “I was 14. Can you blame me.”

“From my arm.” Harry was still giggling, but it was as if he was trying to get control of it.

“Like it’s never happened to you.” Louis poked a finger into the little bit of pudge at Harry’s waist.

“Daily,” Harry said, not sounding a bit guilty. “The year you turned 16 was, um, a trying time for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Your arse, Louis.” The moan was almost obscene.

“It’s good innit?” Louis dropped his hand to cup one of the fleshy globes. “I thought it might be.”

“Good?” Harry slapped Louis’ hand away and replaced it with his own. And Louis almost swallowed his tongue. “A gift from God, Louis. I’ve written poems to this arse. I’ve dreamed of worshiping at its alter.”

“Poems?” He squirmed back into the heat of Harry’s palm.

“I was 15, so don’t judge too harshly,” Harry warned, then cleared his throat. “Delectable peach/Oh, how I wish you were mine/to savour for days.”

“Noooooooo.” Louis covered his face, his cheeks flaming. “A haiku to boot. Oh, Harold.”

Harry simply tugged him so that he was fully lying on Harry’s body. The new position let Harry get both hands on Louis’ arse, and he hummed happily ignoring Louis’ squawks of indignity.

But as much as he fussed, Louis had no interest in going anywhere. He was right where he wanted to be.

Settling in a little bit, he laid his head against Harry’s chest, his legs slipping into the space between long, lithe thighs. Their groins lined up, and that in combination with Harry’s hands still playing with his arse through his thin trousers had Louis’ cock paying attention.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There were far more interesting things he wanted to be doing, but he knew there were still things they should say. So he tried not to concentrate too hard on the way Harry’s pinkies were slipping into the crease between his cheeks. “You can always tell me anything, you know that?”

The humor slipped away from their little bubble. “I didn’t think you’d ever. I didn’t think it was a possibility. So why mess it up?”

“Love.” Louis reached up to tangle his fingers in silky strands. “Even if I didn’t feel the same way, nothing could ever ruin us. Ruin this.”

Harry’s hands slid up to Louis’ lower back. “I know. It’s just, not something that’s exactly easy to come out and say. Why didn’t you tell me?”

And fair play. “Remember the night you kissed Mary Winters?”

The groan was part embarrassed, part amused. “Unfortunately.”

“Then the boys started in on you about Sarah Jones,” Louis continued. “And Francesca from down the street.”

“They were just being arseholes,” Harry said. “Nothing ever happened. Maybe a kiss here or there with some girls. With each one I thought maybe it would finally be the time I stopped thinking about you. And it never was.”

“Fuck,” Louis dropped his forehead to Harry’s sternum.

“Yeah.”

Louis pressed his lips together. “Well, I just thought it wasn’t in the cards, you know? I thought you just didn’t want to tell me about your dates and such because you didn’t want to rub it in. You know, that I don’t really go on dates.”

“There was nothing to tell, there, Lou,” Harry rushed out. “And I don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Treat you like that,” Harry said. “There’s nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. So there’s no need to act like there is.”

God, he wanted to kiss his boy and never stop. “One more question.”

He wondered if Harry was pouting. “Louieeeeeee.”

“I know, just one more,” he promised, rubbing a thumb over Harry’s lips to smooth out the purse there. He’d been right. “Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?”

Harry was quiet, his breathing steady, but the silence itched at Louis’ spine.

“Is it because you think you’re going to die?” Louis almost didn’t want to put voice to the question. But he needed to know.

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

He wondered if his fingers would leave little bruises where they dug into Harry’s skin. “Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.”

As much as he wanted to, this wasn’t the time to break down. This wasn’t the time for sobs and pleas and guilt and fear.

_Can we not be sad tonight?_

And maybe Louis could do this for him. Like with Brighton. Just one night. It could be something they could hold onto in the darkest times that were about to come.

There were tears that he couldn’t hold back, but his voice was steady.

“I promise you, I’ll love you all my life,” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips. “I promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I promise you, you’re my forever and my always.”

They were vows spoken underneath the witness of stars. And they settled into the terrified space in his chest, calming his racing heart.

“My forever and my always,” Harry repeated.


	5. Chapter 5

**~~~**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**~~~**

There wasn’t a need for words after their declarations. They’d talked enough. Harry’s hand slid up from where it rested at the nape of Louis’ neck to the back of his head so that he could press their lips together. 

It was the kiss they’d been waiting for since the minute they stepped into the warm night air. It started gentle, the ghost of their vows turning them reverent and loving instead of fast and dirty. But as soon as Louis prodded at the seam of Harry’s mouth, something shifted. 

Their tongues touched, slick and eager, dancing into the warmth of each other’s mouths. Fireworks, Harry had said. And that’s what it was. It was hot and sparkling and thrilling and just a little bit dangerous. They’d burn you if you got too close, but maybe it was worth it. 

Years of pent up lust and frustration drove them, made their hands frantic and their hips desperate. Harry’s fingers were on Louis’ arse again and he hadn’t even noticed them trailing down his back. But he was cupping Louis, holding him firm. Their cocks, nestled next to each other, were hard in an instant, having been on edge for a while. Louis whimpered into Harry’s mouth, and Harry smirked. 

In retaliation, Louis rutted down, shifting in a tiny figure eight to create delicious friction for them both. This was new territory, and he didn’t quite know what to do, but Harry’s answering moan told him he’d done something right. So he tried it again. 

“Baby,” Harry thrust up a bit. And it was. A lot. 

His body was tight, on fire and chasing release. It would be embarrassing with someone else, but he didn’t pause to consider his confession. “I’m not going to last long, Harry.”

“Just Round One, sweetheart.” Harry’s voice wasn’t any more steady than his and it eased some of the mortification. “Gotta take the edge off.”

They dived for each other’s lips again then, with Harry surging up and Louis meeting him halfway, and their teeth clashed and their noses bumped and it didn’t matter. It was still the best he’d ever felt in his life. 

Louis tugged on Harry’s hair a little bit, earning himself more delicious sounds from his boy. He noted that Harry liked that, but it was his last coherent thought. After that it was just want and need and harder and faster. 

Then Harry’s finger pushed the fabric of Louis’ trousers into the crease of his arse, and at the same time rocked his hips up. The combination sent Louis spiralling.

He came with the taste of Harry on his lips, and vanilla wrapping around him, and the beat of Harry’s erratic heart beneath his chest. 

His body went boneless against Harry’s and he knew there was something he should be doing, but he was floating in golden gossamer clouds and shoulds had no place here. 

“So fucking gorgeous, Lou.” Harry’s breath was hot against his ear. “Fucking gorgeous.” Then his hand moved between their bodies, as his teeth sunk into Louis’ neck. The bit of pain was addicting and jarring enough to bring Louis back to reality, and he realized Harry hadn’t come yet. 

It didn’t seem like Harry expected him to do anything, though, so he just tilted his head so his boy would have been access to the delicate skin beneath his jaw and held tight. Harry’s body shuddered seconds later and then relaxed. 

The aftermath was warm and pulsing and also slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he’d never come in his pants before, but he’d never come in his pants pressed up against another boy. 

He groaned a little bit and rolled off Harry so that he was lying next to him. 

“I can’t believe we wasted so much time fucking reading,” Harry said and Louis giggled because he was feeling so light and loved and happy. 

“That was a bit more interesting than Mr. Darcy,” Louis admitted. 

“Oh, only a bit?” Harry was over him in an instant, his thumb brushing along the side of Louis’ face, Harry’s warmth surrounding him. 

“Mmmm,” Louis hummed into Harry’s lips. “I’ll guess you’ll have to try harder this time.”

Retaliation was slow and sweet. They were both a bit out of it from their first round, so they simply enjoyed each other. Soft kisses and dainty nips of teeth against skin and gentle caresses wherever their hands could reach. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered into the dip of Louis collarbone. 

“I love you,” he pressed into Louis’ temple.

“I love you,” he breathed after burying his face into Louis’ hair. 

“Always,” Louis promised as his lips found Harry’s pulse.

“Always,” he kissed into Harry’s shoulder. 

“Always,” he murmured, his tongue tracing the exposed skin at the base of Harry’s throat.

Soon the quiet tenderness was no longer enough. Harry’s fingers found the hem of Louis’ shirt and tugged. The night touched his sweat-slicked skin, making him realize just how he must look to Harry. Vulnerability was not an emotion he usually wore with comfort, but for once he didn’t mind it. He wanted Harry to see him. 

There was silence, then, but it wasn’t terrifying because this was Harry and he would never hurt Louis.

“I know it doesn’t matter, because I would love you if you were a troll,” Harry said, from somewhere just above him. His knees pressed in against Louis’ hips, probably kneeling so he could get a good look. “But you are so beautiful it hurts.”

Louis shook his head.

Harry poked his arm. “You are, God you are.” There was annoyance in the pout, as if Louis was insulting him by daring to say no. “I should have told you every day. But I’ll tell you now.”

“You don’t have to…” Louis started.

“Shush, you.” Harry leaned down for a quick peck. Then he pulled away again, ignoring Louis’ groan of protest. “I’ll start at the top. Your hair…”

“Oh, God, the literal top.”

“What did I just say?” Harry poked him and Louis wiggled beneath his weight, as if he could really escape. As if he’d ever want to. “I know this is going to be hard for you, but behave yourself.”

“Hard did you say?” Louis swiveled his hips. 

Harry leaned close so that his mouth was against Louis’ ear. “Do you need to be tied down, sweetheart?” He bit the lobe and tugged, just a little.

Louis arched into Harry’s body, needing every touch he was willing to give. “Yes,” he gasped out knowing it was ridiculous. There was nothing to tie him to. But the idea, once suggested, wormed its way into his brain so that he couldn’t stop imagining it. God, the idea of being completely exposed and open to whatever Harry wanted to do to him. Was. So much. “Harry.”

“Shhhhh.” Calming hands ran along his sides, and he was almost embarrassed by the way his muscles trembled with want. “Next time, baby. Now you’re just going to lay still for me aren’t you?”

Harry waited until the tension had drained out of Louis before he continued. “Gorgeous,” he murmured. “You’re so pretty in the light baby. The sun makes me jealous when it gets to kiss your face. It turns your skin soft and golden and your hair into chocolate caramel.

Lips touch the skin just beside Louis’ eye. “You look lovely in the dark, too. The shadows hug your valleys and get to be closer to you than I am ever able to be.”

“My valleys?” Louis’ voice wavered on the question.

“Here,” Harry pressed his mouth into the softness of Louis’ cheek. He ducked down then, and found the dip of Louis’ clavicle. “Here.”

“You’re beautiful in the rain, because the water makes you glisten. The drops cling to your lashes and your lips and your fingers like they can’t imagine ever leaving you. And I never blame them.”

Harry had shifted down and was circling one of Louis’ nipple with the edge of his nail. Little shocks of lightning flickered in his blood when Harry pinched the nub.

“You’re stunning right now, Lou.” Harry licked over his other nipple, his tongue laving at the pink skin. Louis arched into the feeling, pressing himself into the sensation. God. “In the starlight. But I don’t have to be envious this time.”

Louis’ hand found the back of Harry’s head as he slid lower. He needed the contact, needed something to hold onto as Harry pressed open-mouth kisses down his chest. Harry’s fingers followed, until they hovered near the waistband of his trousers. 

Louis was nervous because there had never been anyone else. No man who had seen him, no touch other than his own hand. But Harry was working on unhooking the button and soon he would be completely exposed to his gaze. It was intimate, made more so by the fact that Louis couldn’t see what Harry was doing, couldn’t feel his heartbeat. 

All of a sudden it was like he was drifting, lost and scared, and he scrambled for Harry’s hand. The boy paused, his fingers resting on the edges of Louis’ hipbones. Their palms met, and Louis immediately relaxed at the contact. 

“Baby, we don’t have to…”

“No,” Louis said, perhaps louder than necessary. That wasn’t why he was scared. “I want to. God. I want everything, Harry. I just. Can you talk to me?”

Harry hummed, and the vibrations tickled the strip of skin just above Louis’ trousers. “Of course, sweetheart. I want to see you, and touch you and taste you.” He worked the pants off over Louis’ hips, slower this time. “Just lift a bit. There we go. I’m right here, baby.”

It was true, Harry’s weight was a solid presence between his legs, as he sunk teeth into the newly exposed flesh of Louis’ inner thigh. 

Louis cried out in surprise, and then pleasure. The pain was grounding in the best way possible. 

Harry pulled off a bit to blow on the wetness his mouth left behind, then laved over what was surely a freshly forming bruise. “I like hearing you. Your voice always stays with me, you know?” The lips were gentle this time as they slipped beneath the edge of Louis’ shorts. “The way you say my name, sometimes. I could almost pretend you loved me.”

As he said it, Harry’s thumb caught in the waistband of Louis’ shorts and tugged. His hard, damp cock bobbed free, and Louis sighed at the relief of escaping the clinging fabric. “Do,” he slurred. “Love you.”

“Baby,” Harry’s breath was hot against his groin. “You’re perfect.”

Then there were lips kissing up the length of Louis’ cock, and he couldn’t help but bury his fingers in Harry’s hair. It was overwhelming, the sensations. The heat. The wet. The rasp in Harry’s voice that told Louis he was just as worked up.    

“I’m going to suck you now, sweetheart,” Harry said, the filthy words turned romantic in his molasses voice. Louis stuttered and nodded and angled his hips to where Harry must be. God, he needed. 

“Have you? Before?” Louis gasped as Harry sunk down on his cock without any preamble. It nudged at the back of Harry’s throat, before Harry pulled off. 

Harry licked a long strip along the underside, then took just the tip back into his mouth. And sucked. Louis forgot the question even as Harry hummed around his cock. 

“Some. Wished it was you.” He answered, then kissed the top, quick and cute, before taking him all the way down. His fingers wrapped around the base, stroking and squeezing lightly. 

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was broken. Wrecked. It just felt so good. And never in his life had he ever expected to get this. Not with Harry. 

“There we go, just like that.” Harry said. “That’s how I’ll always remember you saying my name.”

Louis cried out. “I love you. Harry.”

That was enough for Harry, who removed his hand and sunk the rest of the way down so that Louis’ cock slipped into his throat. It was tight and glorious and Louis swore he heard angels singing as Harry swallowed around him. There was no rhythm to follow. Just when Louis thought he could predict Harry’s next move, the boy would pull off and tease him with little kitten licks at his tip, then dip down to his balls, sucking each into his mouth. It was maddening and glorious and perfect. 

But it was when Harry took him back into his mouth fully that Louis couldn’t deny the heat that was gathering in his belly any longer. “Fucking god. Jesus fucking…”

And he came. Without even warning his boy, who took it, only pulling off enough to catch Louis’ come against his tongue. 

Everything was hazy and light. Harry was still suckling on his spent cock and Louis let him until the pain turned sharp instead of somewhat pleasant. “Talk to me, Harry,” he begged, tangling fingers that didn’t even feel like his fingers in the boy’s hair. “Did you?”

“Not yet,” Harry said, licking at the tip of Louis’ cock once more, as if he couldn’t quite say goodbye to it. “I’m so hard, sweetheart, I almost came when you did. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to see you and feel you and hear you.”

“Want that,” Louis slurred, dizzy with the desire to feel Harry’s skin against him. It was sharp and heady despite his spent body’s muted glow. “Please.”

The plea broke whatever trance Harry had been in, and suddenly the boy was looming over Louis, his cock hard against Louis’ hip, his lips against Louis ear. “Want to hear you beg all the time. You sound so pretty when you beg.”

Louis whimpered, the words going straight to his over-sensitive prick. It gave a twitch, but wasn’t quite ready for another round. “Please,” is all he could say again. 

“What do you want?” Harry licked into the shell of Louis’ ear, sending shivers down his spine. 

He tipped his chin down. “What you did. Want to try.”

Harry inhaled sharply. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” God, more than anything. He was gagging for it. He needed to feel Harry heavy in his mouth. Needed to do this for him. 

“Alright,” Harry pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “Just stay there. I’m going to move up a little.”

There was some shuffling and a mild curse from Harry and maybe Louis should have felt disoriented and confused, but all he smelled was vanilla, and all he felt was the heaviness of Harry settling against his chest. An anchor to keep him tethered to reality.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against Louis’ already damp lips. Louis opened for him, not really knowing what to do, but knowing without a doubt that Harry wouldn’t let him falter. The solid weight of the boy’s cock rested against Louis’ tongue for a moment, and Harry groaned. “God. You’re so beautiful like this. Look so good for me.”

His thumb traced the corner of Louis’ stretched lips, dipping inside for just a brief moment, before swiping over his jaw. Then he twitched his hips forward. 

“You can suck a little, now, baby,” Harry gritted out. Louis rested his fingers against the boy’s trembling, sweat-slicked thighs, letting the tips dig into the soft flesh there. He wanted to leave bruises, wanted Harry to remember this moment. 

He closed his mouth around Harry, taking him a little deeper, but not wanting to choke and reveal his complete inexperience, despite the fact that rationally he knew Harry was well aware of it. 

Harry let him get used to it, only gently rocking as Louis adjusted. But it wasn’t long before Louis tapped on his leg to let the boy know he was alright. Then he kept his jaw slack and hoped Harry got the message.

There was a groan from above him and then Harry snapped his hips forward. It was difficult, at first, but Louis tried to swirl his tongue around the tip a bit as Harry slid toward the back of his mouth. He coughed again while trying to take him down further, but Harry retreated with a soft cooing noise before pushing back in.

And it was so good, so fucking good. This was Harry in his mouth, on his chest, whispering broken praise because he was so affected by what Louis was doing. Joy and love mixed with terror because no one actually got everything they wanted in life.

“I’m gonna…” Harry murmured, shifting away. And no. That wouldn’t do. Louis gripped Harry’s arse to keep him where he was. “Baby…”

Louis tried to nod, but he doubted he was doing much. So he just held on, pressing Harry ever closer. It was hard to breathe, but it didn’t matter, because once again he was surrounded by Harry. Harry on his tongue, Harry underneath his hands, Harry shouting out Louis’ name, Harry’s sweet scent tinged with sex and sweat. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry sighed as he settled down next to Louis, immediately pulling him into his side. Louis curled up against his boy, one leg slotting over his thigh, his soft cock brushing against Harry’s hip. 

Louis nipped at Harry’s shoulder, then rested his head in the nook. The dampness of their skin made the night chillier than it had been even moments earlier. Harry felt his shiver, and reached over him for something. A second later, they were both partially covered by Louis’ jacket.

“Oh, your birthday present.” Louis had almost forgotten. 

Harry laughed, though. “You just gave it to me, baby. Best present ever. Just don’t tell mum.”

“Piss off,” Louis smiled, as he dug in the pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed around the leather, and he brought it close to his chest as he rearranged himself against Harry once more. 

It was delicate, this thing between them. And yet so strong. He was nervous to give Harry the gift, but at the same time knew the boy would love it. Was this what it was like being in love with and being loved by your best friend, then? The butterflies and the foundations? 

“Lottie helped me,” Louis said, because Harry was patiently waiting, just carding his fingers through Louis’ tousled hair. “But she said it came out alright.”

He pushed the paper-wrapped bundle into Harry’s free hand, and then his palm found Harry’s heartbeat. It was still a bit fast.

“Lou,” Harry breathed, and Louis tried to picture it as Lottie had described. The journal was small, so that Harry could keep it with him. Black, so as not to draw attention. But stamped across the middle in gold lettering was an inscription. “You bring me home.”

“I hope you don’t mind I used your poem,” Louis whispered into Harry’s skin, loving the bite of salt against his lips. “There’s a letter in there. Lottie wrote it for me. Don’t read it yet, though, alright?”

Harry hummed, and the vibrations tickled Louis’ palm. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love you.”

He ducked his head down to capture Louis’ mouth.

Please come home to me. Let me bring you home. 

It was a desperate plea that Louis swallowed, because it wasn’t fair. Nothing should ruin this night. Not even the idea that it would be their last.

“I love you,” he said instead. “You’re my forever and my always.”

Harry rested his forehead against Louis’ and breathed deep like he was holding back tears. Louis didn’t dare brush a thumb against the corner of his eyes to check. It would unleash his own torrent, and he worried that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“My forever, Lou,” Harry finally responded, his voice ragged. “My always.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_~~~_ **

_PART TWO: ‘I ALWAYS THINK ABOUT YOU’_

1939-1945 london

**~~~**

**CHAPTER SIX**

**~~~**

_Dear Harry,_

_This journal is so that you have a safe space to keep all your beautiful words. And the ones that are silly or pointless or pretty or melodic. Keep them here so I can have them when you come back home to me. I know it’s something you can’t promise and that’s alright. I can promise it enough for the both of us._

_My brave, lovely Harry. I love you with everything I am and for everything you are._

_Always in my heart._

_L._

**~~~**

_Louis,_

_I read your note on the train and I cried like a baby. The woman next to me had to sacrifice her pretty handkerchief just so I didn’t drown us both in my tears. I will write only precious words in my journal, because they will be the ones meant for you. I’ll carry it next to my heart, so that I’ll never feel alone._

_I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to write to you, but I will when I can. I’m including how to contact me below, so if it’s not too much trouble, please do._

_Forever yours,_

_H._

_P.S. Hi Lottie!_

**~~~**

The note was short, and Louis didn’t want to be disappointed but he was. He tried to concentrate on Lottie’s laughter as she finished reading it, and not the pit in his stomach that had taken up residence a week ago when he and Harry had clung to each other, neither one of them wanting to be the first to let go.

“Shall we write him back?” Lottie asked.

“In a bit, yeah?” Louis wasn’t ready. And he wanted to bask in Harry’s words before he tried to put ink to his own thoughts. Wanted to live in Harry’s head for a bit, just a little bit, and savour the contact that wasn’t really contact.

_I’ll never feel alone._

“I’ll get us a cuppa.” Lottie patted his knee as she passed. Smiling his thanks at what must be her back, he plucked a cigarette from the pack he kept in his pocket. He didn’t smoke, but he liked the feel of them in his hands. The constant need to fidget and move and adjust settled when he ran the tip of his fingers over the rolled paper.

He wondered if the war would affect his supply. It helped not to think about it.

Lottie sometimes left the radio on at night, and the announcers’ voices had taken on a tinge of panic he doubted anyone else heard. He was attuned to the fluctuations, though, the tightening in their vocal chords when they read off the latest bullshit propaganda designed to get boys like Harry to join up. They were scared.

“Are you going to cry, then?” Lottie asked, plucking the ciggie from between his fingers and pressing a warm cup of tea into his hand. “You two are pretty sickening.”

Louis smirked and kicked out without much force. He caught the edge of her shin and she swore at him. “You know if you complain, I’ll just be even more ridiculous in the next one.”

“Is that even possible? Wait, no, I’m not daring you. I take it back.” There was a giggle in her voice, and he was glad for it. He worried about her. The brunt of taking care of him, of taking care of the other girls, too often fell to Lottie, and he thought there were probably far too few moments of levity in her life.

“Should we go to the cinema on Saturday night?”

If she was thrown by the abrupt subject change, she didn’t mention it. “Oh, yes please. Really, Louis?”

The little girl excitement in her voice tugged at him. “Of course. Anything you want to see. We’ll convince the girls with ice cream.”

Lottie squealed, and then she was crossing the room to press a sloppy kiss to Louis’ forehead. “I hate you sometimes. But you’re also the absolute best.”

Louis grumbled, swiping the heel of his palm over the rouge she was sure to have left behind. “I never hate you, and you’re also the best.”

**~~~**

_H,_

_Can you believe it’s been three months since you left? I can. I feel each day and each hour and each minute. Your mum has taken to inviting me and the girls to Sunday roast. I know she writes to you, so I won’t bore you with updates, but I’d like to think we take strength in each other’s presence. She keeps our picture on the mantle. Has told me it makes her smile to see it, and I’m again thankful for that day for so many reasons._

_She’s always known it would be you and me, hasn’t she? Mum, too. I wonder when they realized. I wonder how that conversation went. Shall I ask Anne? Would that embarrass you terribly? (Lottie is shaking her head at me, so I think that it might. And I may do it anyway.)_

_Lottie and I have also taken to going to the cinema every few weeks. It’s an indulgence that you would think I’d not enjoy, but I find it pleasant to forget for a bit of time. Forget that there’s war and hate and storm clouds on our horizon. I don’t forget you, but I forget the constant pain of missing you. Is that selfish of me? I suppose it is. It’s only for a handful of minutes, though._

_Otherwise, we are well, here. Please don’t spare us any of your extra thoughts, save those for yourself. I love you._

_Always in my heart,_

_L_

**~~~**

_L,_

_I am sure you have already asked mum, so I want all of the details. (I am not embarrassed as I would never be embarrassed about what I feel for you or what we are to each other. But I am laughing about how you might bring that up with mum.)_

_And, darling, you are not selfish for wanting to escape the pain. Please don’t think I want you to hurt when you miss me. I want you to think about the rooftop and your hand on my heart, and my body next to yours. I want you to think about our stupid jokes and taking the piss out of McGregor and your devastating impression of Mrs. Winslow down the street._

_I wrote the first words in your journal today. They were the first ones special enough to make it. Would you like to hear them? It’s nothing much, just the start of something._

_//Feels like this could be forever tonight, break these clocks, forget about time//you and me were raised in the same part of town, got these scars on the same ground//remember how we used to kick around just wastin time//_

_I am well. Please don’t waste your extra thoughts on me either. Well a few of them, if you will, but only the happy ones and only at night…(sorry Lottie). It is more boredom than anything at the moment. Anxious boredom. I am not wishing for something else, though, darling, don’t fret._

_Forever yours,_

_H_

_Ps. My friend Tommy does not have anyone to write home to. He asked me who I’m always sending letters to and I told him about you (though I think he thinks you’re a bird, soz) and Charlotte. He seemed eager when I was telling him, so I told him he could write to Charlotte if she doesn’t mind. (You don’t have to write back, Lottie, but I think he wants to be able to write someone.)_

**~~~**

There was a little gasp as Lottie trailed off reading. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Well, there was another letter,” Lottie said, slowly. She spoke like Harry did, weighing the words in her mouth before they came out. “Addressed to me. But I wanted you to be able to hear yours first.”

They were tucked into the ends of the sofa, each with a cup of tea. It was late because they always waited until the other girls were in bed before they read Harry’s letters. In case the girls got nosy. It was an unspoken agreement, and one more thing for which he owed Lottie.

He stretched out his leg until his toe nudged her knee. “Read it out loud.”

Lottie huffed out a confused breath, but the sound of ripping paper followed shortly after. There was silence, then, so he just nudged her harder. “All right, gosh. Dear Miss Tomlinson. That’s nice. Polite.”

“Better be,” Louis muttered, not quite sure how he felt about all this. But if this Tommy got Harry’s seal of approval, he’d at least give him a shot.

“I hope I’m not botherin you. I’m not great with words or anything. Not like Harry. But it’s nice to write home. Even when it’s not actually home. I’m Tommy, by the way. Born and raised in a tiny village in the Lake District. Never been anywhere else. Except now I am, yeah? Hope this doesn’t bother you, and thank you, ma’am. Sincerely Yours, Tommy.”

“That’s sweet,” Louis said.

Lottie was quiet and he thought she was reading the short message again.

“Are you going to write him back?” he asked after giving her a few minutes.

She hummed. “Yeah, I should, right? He’s fighting for our country and all. Least I can do.”

After that they both sunk into their own thoughts. He thought she might be composing a letter in her head, and he was thinking about Harry’s.

He would have to give his boy all the details of his conversation with Anne, but dictating that to Lottie would come tomorrow, when his bones weren’t heavy with exhaustion. He thought about it, though. That one Sunday they’d stood in her kitchen, the heat from her oven wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.

“Can I ask you something?” He’d been leaning back, useless, against the counter. The girls were in the living room and Robin was entertaining them with some cards game.

“Of course, love,” Anne said, clearly still moving about the small space, but never making Louis feel like he was in the way. “Anything.”

This was the moment. Louis may have suspected the mums knew, but that was different than actually admitting it. Most parents would be horrified with his question, perhaps even kick him and his family out of their home. It was a testament to Anne that he was even considering asking.

But ever since he’d mentioned it to Harry, he’d known he’d have to ask. It would be something that could possibly brighten the boy’s day, for even a moment. And Louis would risk a lot for that.

“When did you know?”

There was a scuff of heel against tile, like she’d stopped mid-step. The echo of the question Harry and he had whispered to each other on the roof was loud in the confined space. A pan clattered against the stovetop and then he was encased in Anne’s arms.

“When he was five he told me he was going to marry you, darling,” Anne murmured into his hair. “When he was eight he described the wedding. When he was thirteen he told me where you two would settle down. And when he was sixteen he told me he wanted to kiss you, but was terrified to do it.”

“Bloody hell,” Louis laughed at his beautiful, open boy.

Anne’s own laugh was shaky, emotion coating the sound that was too loud for the moment. “My reaction precisely. You can imagine I was a little surprised by that one.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed.

“But he always says it’s going to be the two of you,” Anne murmured. “There’s never going to be anyone else for him.”

“For me neither,” Louis said, because they were sharing secrets, even if they weren’t necessarily hers to share.

She nodded. “I thanked the lord for that. That you would be gentle with his heart. It wasn’t a given, but I thought you might be.”

“Did mum know?” He had to ask.

He heard the smile in her voice, the affection. “We daydreamed about what flowers we would get for the ceremony.”

The tears on his face must be soaking into her blouse but she didn’t push him away, and he didn’t move either. Marriage obviously wasn’t a real possibility, even if Harry were home, but they could get lost in the fantasy. “What were they?”

“Lilacs,” Anne said, dreamy and wistful.

**~~~**

_H,_

_Our mums were the cheekiest. Planning our wedding under our noses. They wanted to decorate with lilacs. Do you know what they mean, lilacs? First love. I asked the florist round the corner, and my face was probably the color of a tomato._

_Laugh at me, but I wanted to create a bouquet just for you and this is what it is:_

_An amaryllis for splendid beauty. An aster for patience. A gladiolus for strength of character. A tulip for passion. A yellow rose for friendship. And, of course, our lilacs._

_(Lottie is rolling her eyes at me. -- No I’m crying just a bit, don’t tell Lou--)_

_Please know I talk of light things because I want my letters to bring you happiness, not because you cannot talk to me of the darkness._

_Always in my heart,_

_L_

**~~~**

_L,_

_Thank you for my bouquet. I treasure it. When I get home I shall ask the florist about flowers as well and out-do yours._

_This must be short. I am so sorry, I will write longer when I can._

_Forever yours,_

_H_

_**~~~** _

“What?” Lottie asked. She must have noticed how still he’d gone.

Louis shook his head, not wanting to say it out loud. It was too fragile, and it might shatter if he gave voice to it.

But this was the very first time Harry had talked about actually making it home.


	7. Chapter 7

**~~~**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**~~~**

By the time Harry had been gone six months, it no longer hurt to breathe in the morning, in that moment when Louis remembered.

It ached still, a dull pain that never truly went away. But on one unseasonably warm day in February, he sat on the bench outside the garage and tilted his face toward the sun to feel its warmth, and he counted his heartbeats. Harry’s heartbeats were there too, an easy memory called up with little effort.

And he could breathe.

They wrote as often as possible. For Harry, that wasn’t much. For Louis it was as often as every other day. He wasn’t sure how many of his letters ever reached Harry, but if only a small portion did, he’d be glad for it.

The war, it was creeping ever closer, and it was a foolish person who thought otherwise. There was a strain in Lottie’s voice when she switched the radio from news updates to music. There was an urgency in his customers’ movements that had once been patient and polite above all else. There was the tinge of desperation in the air when Zayn dragged him out to the pub. Like people had to grasp these last moments of frivolity before they were gone for good.

When summer came around, it was no longer an underlying fear. It was out in the open. In July, Brighton closed its beaches to the public, and Louis curled up in his bed, his knees tucked to his chest and cried. He didn’t often let himself do it. The walls were thin, and the girls were easily scared. But he bit his shoulder to muffle the sobs, and gave himself a half hour.

Brighton was theirs. It was spinning in a circle, dizzy in love. It was a warm summer nap, their limbs tangled. It was secrets and promises that felt too big for the whispered words. It was where they first dreamed together about their cottage and their dogs and their breakfast by the sea.

Bighton was theirs.

And now it was gone, just like Harry. Taken by a war that was mean and ugly and swallowed all the light and youth and goodness in the world into its belly, destroying it.

Lottie knocked on his door, coming in without waiting for permission, and placed a cup of tea on the side table.

“I’m sorry, love.” She sat on the edge of his bed, and carded fingers through his hair. He was sorry she had to comfort him. It should be reversed, but he couldn’t stop crying long enough to feel guilty about it.

“He’s so strong, you know?” He said, once the storm had passed. “And I’m not.”

It wasn’t that Lottie didn’t have a temper. She was a right fishwife sometimes. But lately she’d been softer, slower to anger. This, though. This set her off like the old days before everyone tiptoed on eggshells.

“That’s such bullshit, Louis,” Lottie said, dropping her hand away. “No, you know what. I can’t even describe how wrong you are. You have never, ever been weak a day in your life. And you know that. I can’t believe you’re talking like this. It pisses me off. And you know what. It would piss mum off, too.”

It landed like the blow she’d meant it as.

“And Harry, as well.”

Louis pressed his lips together and dug his nails into the softness of his palm.

“You know, you might help make each other strong,” Lottie continued, softer now. “But you’re also strong on your own. You’ve kept us afloat, Lou. You’ve kept us happy. You’ve kept us together. And you haven’t let it make you hard or mean or bitter. That takes it’s own special kind of strength.”

It wouldn’t do to cry again. So he reached out and squeezed her hand. “We’ll make it though, yeah.”

“See,” Lottie said squeezing back. “What did I tell you? Strong as hell.”

**~~~**

_H,_

_It’s your birthday and all I can think about is last year. Our picture, our night on the roof, our stubborn, determined happiness._

_There must be so many seconds and hours and days between when we laid under the stars and now. But it doesn’t feel that way. The moments that you aren’t here come and go without recording themselves on my life._

_Please, my love, even if it’s only for one heartbeat if that’s all you can spare, look at the stars and think of that night and smile. I want to know for certain, for absolute certain, even if it’s only for that one heartbeat, that you are happy. Deal?_

_Happy birthday, Harry. I miss you. I love you._

_Always in my heart,_

_L_

**~~~**

The bombs started falling not long after Harry’s birthday. The press called it the Blitz and Louis called it hell.

In direct defiance to what the enemy wanted, Londoners took the bombings with a stiff upper lip, often referring to them as they did the weather. “It’s a bit blitzy today,” one housewife would say to another. “Yes, but I did not have to do laundry, which was lovely,” the other would reply back.

But for Louis, darkness was his world. The only way he survived it was to keep grounded to reality through touch, sound, smell. Now his world was darkness but it was also crumbling walls, deafening blasts, acrid smoke that snuck into nostrils and coated the hairs there black.

There was the hope that he’d get used to it, grow numb to the way the ground shook , and maybe it wasn’t as bad as it had been in September. But by October the nightly raids were a constant source of panic.

The tube station that was set up as a shelter was the lesser of two evils. The other option was huddling with the girls in a corner of their flat, praying for the morning when the light chased the planes away.

The bunker, though more secure, was crowds and conversations and tears from little ones. It was almost as overwhelming as the bombs for Louis. Almost.

It was becoming a part of routine, though, to line up on the sidewalk after he closed up shop, a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders, both to keep track of them and to steady himself. They’d make their way through the gates, Lottie directing him, and then shove in until they found a spot big enough for all of them.

They’d hunker down then, and the girls would chatter or play cards or dominoes and Louis would rest his head against the cool tile that coated the walls and think about stars and heartbeats and green eyes.

He always asked Lottie to bring at least one of Harry’s letters. Sometimes when the bombs landed in quick succession and it got to be too much, he’d have her read them. Her slow, even voice a balm to his shattered nerves. Some of the letters he knew by heart now.

A part of him was ashamed by his fear. He wasn’t a soldier and he wasn’t in battle. He had no right to be scared. But he realized he wasn’t scared of dying. He was terrified of living in this perpetual state of torture, where the senses he’d relied on to survive were stripped so easily from him. He was terrified of what would happen to the girls. He was terrified of Harry coming home only to find him gone.

The endless nights were made better when he met Niall.

“‘Lo, anyone sitting here?” The voice had the lyrical tilt of the Irish with a harshness that was more frequently found in those coming from the colonies.

“All yours, mate,” Lottie responded for them. Her arm was relaxed against his, so he gathered the newcomer didn’t seem like a threat to their fragile peace.

“Ta,” the man said. “Love that, you know? Ta? So succinct y’all are.”

Louis winced at the loudness of their new neighbor, and thought the volume of his voice probably matched his personality.

Lottie simply ignored the nonsensical statement and moved on to introductions. “I’m Lottie and this is Louis. That’s Felicite, Daisy and Phoebe.”

“Niall,” the lad said as if it meant something. Lottie murmured a soft “oh” and Louis wondered if he was exuberantly shaking her hand. “Pleasure.”

There was a pause and then Lottie touched his wrist just once. Louis held out his hand to the air, and it was quickly encompassed by a sweaty palm. The fingers were slim, and the hand wasn’t much bigger than his own. He thought the man must be slight to average in size.

“Nice to meet ya, Louis,” Niall said, and there was none of the hesitancy that often crept into people’s voices once they realized. It was still carelessly friendly. “And girls.”

“Are you from Ireland, then,” Lottie asked as there was some rustling. The lad settling in.

“Irish by way of America.” Niall cackled as if he’d told a joke. “Sorry, sorry, that’s what my parents always say. I got the leftovers of their accent, but was born and raised in the states.”

“And you decided London in the middle of a war was your next stop?” Louis asked.

Niall laughed hard, and the noise was so foreign to the shelter that conversations around them quieted to take note of the sound.

“Right, right,” Niall slapped Louis’ shoulder. “I’m a journalist, actually. Here reporting on the Blitz.”

It took a moment for them to process that. And then Lottie asked, “What have you found?”

“Resilience,” Niall answered, his earlier merriment somewhat muted. “Not to get sappy on you or anything. But you know what was supposed to happen, right?”

“It was supposed to crush morale,” Louis said, the dark truth in his own soul turning his face hot.

“Right, right,” Niall said. “But it hasn’t worked. Not yet, at least. You lot are tough.”

“It’s the stiff upper lip.”

Niall cackled again, back to his seemingly natural state of joyfulness. “Whatever it is, it’s right inspiring. Makes good headlines at least.”

“So glad we could help you sell papers,” Louis murmured, his voice almost lost among the din.

The jab didn’t land quite the way he wanted it to, because the lad just laughed again breaking any tension that tagged along with the accusation. “Right. Ta, mate.”

They settled in after that, with Niall regaling them with tales of his exploits. He told them of scenes from other parts of the city, things the british press wasn’t reporting on. Some of it was heartbreaking. But other stories showed the durability of a people surviving in hell.

It was reassuring for someone who lived in darkness.

The next night, Niall found them once more. And the night after that. And the one after that.

His company made the endless hours go by faster, and for that Louis was grateful. He made the girls laugh, and for that Louis was grateful. He shut the fuck up when Louis was on the verge of a breakdown and the only thing that could stave it off was Lottie’s slow voice reading familiar words of love. And for that Louis was grateful.

He also learned that the lad was not always the happy-go-lucky Irishman at heart, but could turn serious and thoughtful.

It had been in one of those times that the boy asked about Harry. They’d been laughing moments earlier about some wild story from when Niall was working in New York, but then a companionable silence dropped between them. The bombs weren’t falling close enough to really hear tonight, and so the voices around them had turned merrier, lighter, less laced with fear.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, mate, but what’s with the letters?” Niall finally asked. It was probing, but gentle, as if he would easily give up the topic if Louis wanted.

Louis had no delusions. Just because their families accepted what was between him and Harry didn’t mean strangers would. There was a real and actual danger in being who he was, in loving Harry.

Niall didn’t seem the type to take a swing, and it was also hard to imagine him being fazed by much of anything. But jeopardizing his entire family’s safety for the “didn’t seem the type,” wasn’t something Louis was willing to gamble on.

So he settled for a version of the truth he could live with. “Me best mate,” he said. “He’s off fighting in the war.”

“You wish you could have gone with him?” Niall asked, and Louis was reminded that the lad was a journalist. That he could read people.

“I wish he didn’t have to go,” Louis sidestepped. “I wish no one had to go.”

“But they did,” Niall pushed. “You wish you could have gone with him.”

There was nothing to really deny. Louis did wish that. He hated feeling helpless, like he wasn’t doing his part in the war. “Yes.”

“You wish you could have gone for him.”

And that was a little closer to the actual truth, one he didn’t actually want Niall to see. Still. “Yes.”

“You love him,” Niall said. Louis listened for disgust, fear, hatred. Or even confusion. There was none of that.

“Yes.” Because it was that simple.

“He’s lucky, then,” Niall said after a moment of silence. “It helps, knowing there’s something to come back to.”

Louis thought about Tommy. About how he still wrote letters to Lottie, and she to him. He thought of the smile in her voice that she tried to hide when she read him parts of those letters.

“Yes.”

**~~~**

_L,_

_It is your birthday soon, and I don’t know when you’ll get this, I don’t know if you’ll get this. But know that I’ll be thinking of you on that day. I think of you every day, but on that day, I’ll do what you asked for my birthday. I’ll look at the stars, and remember our night, and smile. And in that moment I’ll be happy. Please do the same, so we can have one moment in the world where we’re happy together._

_Sometimes I wonder if I imagined you. Imagined us. Those are the dark moments, when I think everything was too perfect to have been reality and that it must have been a dream. Only in a dream could life be that kind to us._

_Your letters keep me sane, though. The thing is, I’m scared Lou. It’s a hard thing to admit, to feel survival instincts bare their teeth and gnaw at every good intention you’ve ever had. When the bullets start coming, and they do, it’s hard to think of England and morals and doing the right thing. I wonder sometimes if I’m still a good person. I never wondered before I left. You loved me. You wouldn’t love a bad person, right?_

_Now, I don’t know if you’ll still love me. I see the furrow in your brow as you hear this, I can picture the denial raising to your sweet, beautiful lips. And I love you for that._

_I’m sorry my darling, my forever, my always. I didn’t mean for this letter to be about me. (See a better person would not have let that happen.) It is your birthday and I wrote you a poem. As meager of a present as that is, I hope it brings you a moment of joy. I hope this letter brings you a moment of joy. I wrote the full poem in my journal, but here is my favorite part. You can read the rest when I get home._

_I fell in love with a beautiful boy // And you still take my breath away // I fell in love in the bright starlight // As the hours slipped away // You ran your fingers down my back // And you spelled out your name // while we lay there on the unforgiving ground // and remembered how to pray_

_Forever yours,_

_H_


	8. Chapter 8

**~~~**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**~~~**

What Louis came to think of as the birthday letter marked a changing point. After that one, the darkness started creeping into Harry’s words. Before, there’d been vague mentions of fear and boredom and unrelenting exhaustion. But now there was talk of shame and guilt and a deep sense of a self shaken.

Even Lottie noticed, not that it was hard to. She tripped over some of the sentences, hesitated until he prompted her to continue, finished with a tear-soaked voice.

“I no longer know why we’re fighting. I no longer am that person who thought there was a reason.”

“You loved that person, though, didn’t you? Will you love this one?”

“A man died beside me today. His eyes went glassy, his skin pale and taut. I thanked God it wasn’t me.”

They were tucked in, these sentences, to short letters about the food, Tommy, a broken down jeep that delayed them three days for some reason Louis couldn’t follow, the rain, the neverending rain. There were still mentions of missing Louis, of poetry, of starlight, but they were fewer and further between in letters that were fewer and further between.

Louis ached with it, the need to hold his boy. To rub a palm down his spine and tell him that it would be alright, even if they both knew it to be a lie. To say there was nothing in the world, no version of Harry, that he wouldn’t love. He tried in his letters, to be the arms that held him, that comforted him, but it wasn’t the same.

**~~~**

_H,_

_I have been thinking about a speech Niall told us about. It was from one of his presidents years ago. The man said, “I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen cities destroyed. I hate war.”_

_I also think of the other speeches. The one above came during peacetime. When the smoke had settled and the dead were counted and the loss had sunk in. Inspiration was not needed then. Understanding was._

_The ones now, though, they talk of glory and honor and fighting for the homeland. It makes war seem pretty and worthwhile and it’s a goddamn lie. It’s a dangerous one at that because for the ones who have actually seen war, they know it is something to be hated._

_But, Harry, please, my love, remember that it is war that is to be hated. War. Not you. Not the soldiers. Not us, the ones who are left behind. Let us hate the war, but let us never hate ourselves._

_I know it is a nearly impossible request, I know it is._

_I have woken up in the night, screaming, sweat-drenched, and crying. The urge to hide pounding in my blood, obscuring any thought of anything other than that. Hide. Escape. Run. The word “coward” has become a constant pulse point in my wrist, in my skull, in the darkest parts of my heart. Do you love me still, though? Would you love the man I’ve become, the one who shakes in fear beneath the constant rolling thunder of bombs?_

_Or do you hate me for not being there? For not fighting? For being as safe as I can be, hidden by the concrete of tube stations. Do you hate that person?_

_I know you do not. You would never. More, you could never. We are what’s right in this world, Harry. We’re what’s right._

_I love you so much._

_Always in my heart,_

_L_

_**~~~** _

Lottie was crying by the time she finished writing, little hiccups she was trying to hide. “I hope he gets this one.”

Louis took a sip of his tea, hoping it would warm the coldness in his belly. “Me too.”

**~~~**

 

_L -_

_I will try._

_I love you. It’s all I do._

_Forever yours,_

_H_

**~~~**

The last major attack of the Blitz came in May of 1941. One day the bombs were falling, and the next they weren’t.

By December, the National Service Act was passed, and all men and women aged 18-60 were liable to some form of national service.

They didn’t often go to the pub anymore. There wasn’t time or energy or money. For the first few years people clung to routine and went and drank amid forced gaiety. Louis had hated the pretense of it. Still he’d indulge Zayn every fifth or sixth time he asked. He was down to about once every twentieth time. But there was always that twentieth time.

It was a small place, just down the street from the garage. It used to be run by a bloke named MacGregor, but he got called up, so now his wife had taken over. Perrie was a bright, chirpy bird, who kept spirits high and alcohol flowing. At least as best she could.

Zayn directed Louis into a booth, before going to get their beer. It didn’t take long before a cool pint nudged up against his hand. He accepted it gratefully.

They didn’t talk much, didn’t have anything to say really. Working all day together in the garage tended to exhaust any topics, and making idle chit chat seemed too exhausting to Louis. Instead he listened and untangled the voices around him to try to pick out different conversations. It wasn’t easy, and he was tired, so eventually he just settled back and sipped his beer.

Was this what counted as fun these days?

He was just finishing up his second pint when something in the air shifted. There was a shuffling sound, and Louis went on alert, the muscles in his shoulders tightening, the delicate hairs on his arms standing on end.

“Filthy cowards,” a voice spat at them, and Louis thought he must have spoken aloud for how it echoed the train of thought running through his own head.

He hadn’t, though. It was an old man’s voice, all sandpaper and whiskey, rough from years of use.

He shrank back, away from the accusation.

“Oy.” Zayn was angry. The quiet man rarely raised his voice, rarely let any emotion seep in, actually. But he was angry now. “Piss off. He’s blind.”

“Zayn…”

“No,” Zayn cut him off. “Say what you will to me, but Louis would be fighting in a heartbeat if he could.”

There was a charged silence following that. Louis’ face was hot with embarrassment and shame, and he didn’t know what to do or to say.

But he didn’t need to come up with anything, because the old man started crying. Great, heaving sobs, that rolled through the air and crashed into Louis’ chest. “My son…”

Louis wanted to comfort him, it was as instinctive as breathing to him, with four younger sisters. But Zayn lashed out, grabbing Louis’ wrist to keep him in his seat.

“Yeah, well, we all have loved ones, mate,” Zayn said, the edge of his voice hard and unforgiving. “Doesn’t give you an excuse to be an asshole.”

There was some more shuffling and then the man was gone. A stillness had settled over the pub, people frozen amid a horrifying tableau. Then Perrie started chattering at the bar, a stool tipped over crashing to the floor, and the room came alive again.

“Zayn,” Louis said, not knowing where he was going with the thought. It wasn’t a rebuke or a thanks or a warning. It was just. A sigh.

“I’m sorry, mate.”

And it also wasn’t clear what he was apologizing for. For the fact that they had to endure the slaps, the judgment, or for making a scene, or for telling off an old, grieving man.

It was hard to know anything for sure these days.

**~~~**

_L,_

_I was sat worrying last night about a letter you sent. You called yourself a coward and I didn’t rush to tell you you weren’t. I wonder now if that’s sat heavy on your chest, like it would have mine._

_You’re the best man I know, Lou. The very best. You’re the person I love most in this entire shit world, and I won’t let anyone talk bad about him. Including yourself._

_You are so brave and strong and to think for even a second you might believe otherwise breaks my entire heart. It means I’ve failed in my job of making sure you know that._

_I was being selfish. Not because I for even one second thought you a coward, but because I was so wrapped up in my own shit I couldn’t see past it._

_I know you would be here fighting if you could. But more, I know that doesn’t matter, because even if you_ were _too scared to go to war I know you are still the bravest man I know. Every single day you inspire me to be a better person because of the strength that you show, the courage that keeps you going even when the world is harsh to you._

_You just have to fucking do it. Remember, that’s what your mum said? And you did, Louis. It was hard and painful and you did it anyway. Good things don’t happen to me, you said. But you never let that stop you. You face each day with a strength that others can only wish they had._

_When I want to curl up in fear in the dirt that’s turned muddy because of the blood, I think of you. I think of you never giving up even if it would have been the easy thing to do. I think of you smiling in your darkest hours because you don’t want to worry anyone. I think of you going out of your way to make someone else’s day brighter because you had a shitty one yourself._

_You are the very best man I know._

_Do you remember that cottage I wanted? And the table outside to eat breakfast? Do you remember when I genuinely thought that would be a possibility? I know I said I could never promise you I’d come home, but I thought I would, Lou._

_It was naive of me to think I was ready to die. Ready to leave you. I didn’t understand what that really meant. I didn’t understand the smell of burning flesh or the slow drip of blood on hospital floors._

_I close my eyes at night, wondering if I’ll be alive the next day, and imagine the cool sea breeze on my face. Imagine you wrapped in my arms, my chin on your shoulder as we stand on our cliffs._

_Do you think we’ll ever make it there?_

_I don’t know. But I do know one thing hasn’t changed. You are my always, you are my forever._

_Forever yours,_

_H_

**~~~**

_H,_

_We will have our cottage. We will have our cliffs. We will have our damn dogs._

_Because you are my always, you are my forever._

_L_


	9. Chapter 9

**~~~**

**CHAPTER NINE**

**~~~**

The war was supposed to be over long ago. Evil vanquished. British superiority re-established. The months ticked away, though, and the war didn’t end. 

“It feels like it never will,” Lottie whispered one night over letters and tea. 

“It has to,” he said. One way or another. 

Life went on, though, almost surprisingly. Fizzy became a nurse, and left a few years into the war, to work at a hospital in the south of England. There she met a wounded soldier who’d lost his leg, and they were married in a quiet ceremony in the spring of ‘43. Lottie and Louis sent well wishes but weren’t able to travel to see it. 

Daisy was next. She met a clerk stationed in one of the officer’s headquarters in London. He was young and fresh faced and they said they were in love. Phoebe was quick to follow, as was often the case. 

By the spring of ‘45 it was just him and Lottie left in their little flat above the garage. 

“Are you staying for me?” He finally asked, a question that had sat on his lips for years. 

It was quiet and every fear he had bellowed in his chest. 

“Yes and no,” Lottie finally answered and the howls got louder. “Yes, because. I’m here for you until Harry comes back, Lou. I know you hate that. I know you do. But I wouldn’t leave you on your own. Just like you would never leave me on my own no matter what. That’s what family does.”

That was true, but it didn’t make it easier to swallow. 

“You’re also my best friend, though, Lou,” Lottie continued, slow but fierce. “And. It’s not just for you.”

The tightness eased, the screaming dimmed. “Tommy?”

“I love him,” Lottie admitted. “I know it’s foolish, but I do. So you’ll wait for Harry and I’ll wait for Tommy, and while we do we have each other. And that’s not so bad right?”

“No,” Louis said. “That’s not so bad.”

So they waited. 

It was late March when Louis finally broke. He hadn’t received a letter from Harry in four months despite sending his own on a near daily basis. It was getting to the point that he could tell from the silence when he walked in the door. There was no letter.

“Let’s go for a drive, shall we,” Lottie said one Sunday morning. They kept a car in the garage though they rarely used it. Traveling on a whim wasn’t the smartest decision these days, and most things they needed were within walking distance. But neither of them had heard from the boys they loved in months and they needed an escape. 

And so they drove.

They drove into the country for hours and hours, and they didn’t talk. They simply held themselves in a quiet that was fragile and delicate and just waiting to be shattered.

When Lottie finally parked, Louis had no idea where they were and he didn’t care. The ground was uneven beneath his shoes when Lottie pulled him out of the passenger seat, and he followed her without protest across the rough terrain.

Finally, she stopped and Louis stopped. And the only sound he could hear was the wind in the trees. His sister gripped his wrist then and tugged him down until they were both seated.

“This used to be mum’s favorite place,” Lottie said and Louis knew. The lake. 

Their mum would take them there on weekends, packing a picnic basket and whispering in hushed tones to make it seem like an adventure. Harry would come along sometimes, but sometimes it would just be him and Lottie and mum. They’d spend the day at the lake and return home smelling of pond water and sunshine and laughter, and it wouldn’t matter that they lived in a tiny flat where they all shared a bedroom and had to eat bruised fruit because it was cheaper. It wouldn’t matter. They had each other. 

“Remember how easy it was to be happy?” Lottie asked. 

And it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. Because his sister was supposed to be young and carefree and not growing up in the middle of a fucking war where death and fear and bombs were constant companions. 

“We never needed much, did we?” Louis said instead of any of that. 

“It’s harder when you get older.”

“It’s harder when there’s war,” Louis corrected. “It’s harder when you love.”

“You and Harry. There was never a question, you know?” Lottie said, her fingers finding his wrist. A connection to ground Louis. “You loved each other so much, it was impossible to imagine you without him. Him without you.”

_ There will never be a time for me when you and I aren’t a we, Louis.  _ He still remembered those words. Harry had been so sure. 

“You can survive, though, Louis,” Lottie said, her voice fierce. “I know you don’t think you can. I know you’re holding yourself together thinking he’ll come back. But you can survive on your own.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Lou?” Lottie’s fingers tightened on his arm. “Don’t say that you’re strong? Don’t say that you can remember him and still live, if this war ever ends. Don’t say that you can have more than just a memory of Harry?”

“Don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Say that,” Louis forced the words out between trembling lips. “He’s not dead.”

Lottie didn’t say anything.

“He’s not fucking dead,” Louis screamed, and it was ripped from deep within him, tearing flesh along the way with its jagged little claws. “I would feel it. I would feel it in my heart.” He pounded on his chest. “I would feel his missing heartbeat, because it’s always there. It’s always fucking there, Lots. And that means he’s not dead.”

She pressed her thumb to the pulse that raced on the inside of his wrist. 

“He’s not dead,” Louis whispered. And then the dam broke. Sobs wracked his body, his lungs heaved for air, his face crumpled beneath the anguish. Harry wasn’t dead. He wasn’t.

But hope was a delicate bird that he’d kept caged inside his chest for far too long. Its wings beat against his ribs begging to be let free, begging to fly away, away from the tight confines of Louis’ body.

“Oh baby,” Lottie murmured and gathered him in her arms. “I know. I know.”

So he cried. He cried for the boy who baked cakes with flour in his hair, and he cried for the boy who thought a dog and cat could be friends, and he cried for the boy who took the hand of his blind best friend and asked what adventure they’d be having today. 

He cried for his lover, young and full of hope, who had whispered vows to him underneath the stars. He cried for the man who would have pledged to him a lifetime of quiet mornings by the sea. He cried for the person he knew Harry could become.

He cried for himself. He cried for the darkness that had come for no reason at all, and he cried for the tragedy that had taken away the woman who packed picnic baskets and smelled of sunshine. He cried because for one day and for one night he’d thought the world was kind. He’d thought the world was perfect. He cried because he still smelled vanilla on clear, quiet nights. And he cried because there had been a part of him that thought, maybe. Maybe he’d get to have it all. 

Lottie held him through it, her own tears falling into his hair. 

When they were done, they walked back to the car and drove for hour and hours in silence. They never spoke about that day.  

In April, the morning after Hitler killed himself, Louis finally got a letter from Harry. 

He’d been in the garage, when the too-fast rhythmic click of heels gave Lottie’s presence away. She never came down to the shop, hated the smell and the grease and the heat, so he pulled his head out from underneath the hood of the car to call to her. “Lottie?”

“Louis,” she gasped as she came closer. “Harry wrote.”

It shouldn’t have hit him so hard. But suddenly he was on the floor without realizing he’d sunk to his knees. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold the pieces together. 

“Is he alright?” Zayn’s voice was distant and muffled by the buzzing in Louis’ ears. He shook his head to clear it, but to no avail.

“We got a letter from Harry,” Lottie told Zayn, her voice growing stronger as she kneeled beside him. Her hand cupped the back of his neck, nudging it down a bit, as if she thought he were about to faint. Maybe he was.

“Anne,” he finally said. She needed to know. These days they’d been holding each other so tight when they said goodbye on Sundays, neither one of them wanting to put voice to their deepest fear. 

Perhaps she’d received her own letter, but the way the post worked these days it was just as good a chance that she hadn’t. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Zayn, can you…” Louis hated to ask, but his friend was already cutting him off.

“Go.”

Lottie grabbed his arm, and they half-walked, half-ran the distance to the small house, as fast as Louis was able to manage.

The door opened seconds after they knocked, and there was a soft gasp of surprise, and then, “Harry?”

“He wrote,” Louis pushed the words out, wanting them off his tongue as soon as possible. He didn’t want her to think for one moment that the news they brought was bad. 

The two of them must have looked so wild standing there on her stoop. He was sweaty and covered in grease, breathing hard and dishevelled. He couldn’t imagine Lottie was much better. But it didn’t seem to matter as Anne collapsed into his arms. 

Neither of them said anything about the tears on both of their faces.

“Come in then, let’s hear the news,” Anne finally said, her voice not quite composed. 

Louis had no idea what the letter would say. Perhaps it would be far more intimate than Harry would want shared with his mother, but at this point, all bets were off. 

Harry was alive. Harry was alive. Harry was alive. It was all he could think. It was all he could breathe in, it was the pulse in his body, the one giving him life. Harry was alive. It was so much more than he could have asked for even an hour ago.

Anne made them tea, and they settled into the chairs in the parlor. 

Harry was alive. He gripped Anne’s hand. Harry was alive. He sipped from his cup. Harry was alive. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. Harry was alive.

Then Lottie began to read.

 

_ L - _

_ I hope this finds you. I have very little time to write, but I know you must be worried sick.  _

_ I am alive. I am uninjured as of writing this. Please tell mum.  _

_ I love you.  _

_ Forever yours, _

_ H _

 

It was almost anti-climatic in its brevity, but Louis wasn’t disappointed. They were words Harry had written. His beautiful, very alive Harry. And that’s what mattered. That’s all that mattered.

He and Lottie stayed the rest of the afternoon which turned into evening. They had dinner once Robin came home, and their laughter was tinged with a little manic relief that no one really acknowledged. 

After they ate, Anne poured them generous glasses of wine, a luxury she had been saving for a special occasion. They shared the two bottles between them, and Louis was pleasantly drunk on the walk home. It was cool, so he cuddled into Lottie’s warmth. 

Only then did he stop being selfish. “Fuck, Lottie. I didn’t even think. Did Tommy write?”

Her silence was the answer he needed. 

“Harry would have said, Lots,” Louis murmured, hating himself for not asking earlier. “I know he’s not thinking clearly, but he would have said.”

“What if he doesn’t know?” Lottie asked. 

“Harry would have said,” Louis repeated with a stubbornness that was strong despite it being built on a wisp of an idea. 

Lottie pressed her fingers into his skin where she was holding his arm. “Sure.”

**~~~**

It only took another week for Tommy’s letter to arrive. It was just as brief, and Lottie cried in his arms. It was only the second time she’d done so during the entirety of the war. 

He was in awe of her strength. 

By then it was obvious why the boys hadn’t been able to write. The war was ending. 

It started as murmurs and whispers in the street, behind closed doors and open palms. But soon, not even the superstitious were afraid to say it. The war was ending. 

There was chaos. News slinked in slowly and then all at once. German forces were surrendering, territory by territory. In the first days of May, Berlin fell. A week later, they woke to a city in celebration. V-E day was here. The war in Europe was won. 

Londoners flooded the streets, and the air turned electric with their collective elation.  

Churchill spoke to the masses, fueling the wild frenzy of jubilation. “The lights went out and the bombs came down. But every man woman and child in the country had no thought of quitting the struggle. London can take it. So we came back after long months from the jaws of death, out of the mouth of hell, while all the world wondered. When shall the reputation and faith of this generation of English men and women fail? I say that in the long years to come not only will the people of this island but of the world, where the bird of freedom chirps in human hearts, look back to what we’ve done and they will say, ‘Do not despair, do not yield to violence and tyranny, march straightforward and die if need be. Unconquered.’ 

By August leaders were gathering to lay out their plans for a post-war Germany. But Harry still hadn’t come home.

“It’s a mess,” Anne said over dinner one week, her fingers curling over his forearm. “They’re trying to bring them back, but no one can get here.”

Louis nodded. They’d only had one more letter from Harry since that April message, and that was months ago. 

The air turned cold and wet and the chill never quite burned off even in the warmest part of the day. It was two weeks into October and the city felt crowded all of a sudden. MacGregor was back behind the taps at the pub, the grocery boy was a boy again and not a girl, the streets were filled with low rumbles to mix in with the ladies’. 

Our boys are back, everyone cried, ignoring the ghosts in those boys’ eyes and the crack in their voices. 

On the third week of October, Niall stopped by. The lad had kept in touch whenever he was in London, but he was shipping back to America now. 

“Might be awhile before I make it back,” Niall said, hovering in the doorframe of their flat.

“Find us when you do,” Louis said and meant it. There was something about war that brought people together, but Louis thought he might have liked Niall anyway. They hugged and slapped backs like lads did and then it was just him and Lottie left in their little flat like always. 

Lottie squeezed his shoulder, tight, as she passed and he guessed she was going to put the tea on. They were in for another long afternoon of desperately wishing they weren’t waiting for someone to come home. 

“Oh hello,” Niall called from somewhere below them, and it was only then Louis realized he must not have closed the door on his way out. Louis didn’t move, though, as a low voice responded to the lad. There was a bit of laughter, and Louis thought he would miss that about Niall the most. Then a door slammed in the distance, and the person started up the stairs, their footsteps heavy on the creaky boards.

Maybe it was a customer. Even though it was a Sunday and they were technically closed, Louis couldn’t turn down the business. 

He thought about calling out to Lottie, just in case, but he waited instead, something keeping him rooted to the spot. 

The hinges on the door protested as the visitor nudged it open with a single rap of knuckle against wood. It was strange that the person hadn’t called out yet, and even stranger that Louis hadn’t either. The air turned electric, then, crackling in the space around Louis’ body. His heartbeat skittered wildly for reasons unknown and he tried to calm it, but he felt like he’d just run a race while all he’d done was stand still. So still.

Boots dropped heavy against the floor as the visitor stepped inside. They stopped, just out of arms’ reach from Louis and still neither of them said anything.

Then Louis breathed deep. And all he could smell was vanilla.


	10. Chapter 10

**~~~**

_PART THREE: ‘IT GETS HARD WHEN WE ARGUE’_

1945 london

**~~~**

**CHAPTER TEN**

**~~~**

“Harry,” Louis whispered on an exhale and it broke whatever trance had held them captive. They were in each other’s arms without conscious thought. The second time he said the boy’s name was on a sob. “Harry.”

“Lou.”

And God it was Harry’s voice. Harry’s voice. It had been so long since he’d heard that sweet molasses voice. Louis buried his face in Harry’s neck, and breathed deep even as his tears soaked the thick collar of Harry’s uniform. Harry shifted, his hands sliding down to settle at the back of Louis’ thighs, and then he lifted him until Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist.

He clung to Harry, unable to say anything other than his boy’s name, over and over again. Unable to think or breathe or stop fucking crying.

Harry’s lips were everywhere, on Louis’ neck, on his chin, on his damp cheeks, and then finally, God finally, on his lips.

The kiss was clumsy and tinged with salt from their tears and it tasted like home.

“Harry!” Lottie called from behind them. Her voice was a mix of joy and shock. For a selfish second, Louis wished Lottie hadn’t been home, but he immediately felt guilty because of it. She’d been there the entire war, too. She’d held him together in the dark months between letters, and celebrated with him when they finally came. She deserved this moment as well.

Still, Harry didn’t fully let him go when he greeted her, and Louis was alright with that. Instead, Harry let Louis slide to the floor, but kept his arm tight around Louis’ waist, keeping him close up against Harry’s body.

“Lottie,” Harry said and then Lottie was crashing into them a bit as Harry pulled her into a one armed-hug. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Lottie waved off the gratitude, but he heard the catch in her voice. “I’m going to let you two catch up. I’ll be at Phoebe’s, let her know you’re back. Don’t wait up for me, loves, I’ll just stay over there.”

Louis would have blushed under different circumstances, but he was still reeling and couldn’t be arsed to work up any embarrassment over it.

“Oh, Harry,” Lottie paused, just behind them. “Is Tommy…?”

The rest of that sentence could have been anything, and Louis wondered if she was bracing for the worst.

“I don’t know, Lots, I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I lost track of him a couple months back, it was all chaos. But he made it through the war, Lottie. He’s just making his way back.”

Lottie half-swallowed a little sob, and Louis reached out for her. “No, I’m fine Lou,” Lottie swatted at his hands as she headed away, toward the stairs. “You heard, Harry. Tommy’s on his way home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The door closed behind her and then he was in Harry’s arms once more. They were stronger, bigger than he remembered. But it was still Harry. It was still his scent and his warmth and his heartbeat. God his heartbeat. Louis’ tore his mouth from Harry’s needy lips, his fingers fumbling at the collar of Harry’s uniform. It only took a second for Harry to catch on, and then he pulled back so he could strip down to his thin undershirt.

Harry grabbed Louis’ wrist, his strong, calloused hands easily circling the delicate bone, and brought Louis’ hand to his chest.

And there it was. Louis held still, his fingertips digging in just a bit to the muscle beneath his palm. The heartbeat was fast, far too fast, but so achingly familiar. “Harry.”

“Baby.” Harry dropped his forehead to Louis’ and they stood there, caught in the fragile moment that seemed one breath away from dissolving into a dream.

“Am I awake?” Everything in the universe told Louis this shouldn’t be real. And yet, Harry was so solid beneath his hands.

Harry laughed, but it was drenched in tears. “Yeah, baby. Or we’re in heaven together. I’m alright with either option.”

“Christ.” All of a sudden it was too much, and Louis was on the floor, his knees hitting the wood before he realized what was happening. His breathing was shallow and panic clawed at his chest. The bombs were thunderous even though they were just a memory and he didn’t want to go back to that place, but he couldn’t quite seem to stop it.

Then there were hands on him. Big and gentle, stroking circles on his back. There was Harry whispering in his ear. “It’s alright, Lou, I’m here. I’m here.”

The bombs faded into the nothingness that they were, the tightness in his chest eased, the trembling in his muscles ceased.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips seeking out skin. He caught the underside of Harry’s jaw, and trailed his lips down along it until he found Harry’s mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” Harry groaned into the kiss seemingly unable to say much else. They had been frantic before, desperate and sloppy. This, this was deliberate and deep and sensual. It had purpose beyond gratitude for being in each other’s arms after six long fucking years.

Harry nudged Louis, and when his back touched the hard floor he realized they were laid out in the entryway of the flat. Neither of them cared.

All that mattered was that Harry had followed him down, and now his reassuring, heavy weight was over Louis, his thick thigh nestling in between Louis’ leg, his forearms bracketing Louis’ shoulders. Harry was everywhere, everywhere. And still Louis wanted him closer. Would forever and always want him closer.

“I love you,” Louis gasped out, realizing he hadn’t yet said it.

Harry stilled completely, his muscles taut.

The moment passed quickly though, and soon the boy nipped at Louis’ bottom lip murmuring something Louis couldn’t quite hear. But it didn’t matter. They were together finally. Finally.

Louis couldn’t stop touching his boy, relearning this new body that had been hardened by war. He pushed Harry’s jacket off, trailing his fingers down his arms to appreciate the muscles that had not been there when he’d been a scrawny 18-year-old. He slipped his hands underneath Harry’s undershirt along the smooth, defined lines of his back, and then down to his waistband to dip his thumbs into the dimples at the top of his arse.

All the while, Harry explored Louis’ neck with an eager mouth, sucking at the skin just above the dip of Louis’ collarbone and groaning.

They were hard and rocking against each other, and Harry fumbled between their bodies freeing both of them. He wrapped a dry hand around their cocks, and Louis moaned at the sensation of being pressed up against Harry.

The only release he’d had in six years had been sad wanks in the shower that had been more about efficiency and practicality than pleasure. He’d always thought of Harry’s warm mouth on him, his hands, his scent, but it had been so laced with heartache and worry and guilt that the frequency had dropped to almost nothing by the last year.

But he wouldn’t think of that now. All he could feel was Harry’s rough, calloused palm, and his hot, silky skin and his soft lips and vanilla. It was too fast and too harsh and his orgasm was ripped from him before he was ready for it, but holy God he felt happy and alive and wonderful and whole for the first time in years.

He was laughing and crying when he felt the warm wetness of Harry following him over the edge. They clung to each other, their stickiness uncomfortable between their mostly dressed bodies.

“You’re home. You’re home. You’re home.” Louis whispered it like a chant, like a prayer, like a mantra he would keep tucked close to his heart.

Harry nodded against him, then his body tensed. “Shit I’m sorry,” he murmured and pressed up off Louis. He wanted to hold his boy close, no matter the weight, but the floor had begun to feel less than comfortable as the euphoria started to fade. He held his hands out, hoping Harry would take the hint to pull him up and direct him to Louis’ bedroom.

“Shower,” Harry grunted, and for a brief, panic-stricken moment, Louis thought Harry was going to leave him on the floor. But then he was hauled to his feet. Harry easily guided them to the shower and stripped Louis with impersonal hands. There were no lingering touches of warm fingers against skin, no knuckles brushing the swell of his arse, no palms heavy on his thighs. Just cool efficiency.

There was rustling as Harry rid himself of his own clothes, and Louis had the insane desire to cover himself. He felt very naked and very vulnerable and Harry wasn’t talking.

Why wasn’t he talking?

Harry’s hands gentled a bit when they nudged Louis into the small tub, under the warm spray. He was careful as he rubbed the small, hard bar of soap over Louis’ shoulder, his arms, his knees. He cupped Louis’ soft cock, not with intent, but with an intimacy that no longer felt right for the moment, before moving to his arse. The soap dipped into his crease and Louis’ breath caught, but not with desire. Something was wrong. So wrong.

It was over quickly, though and Harry switched them, so that Louis was off to the side of the water. Louis wanted to put them back on solid ground, so he reached out with the intent to return the favor, but Harry eased his hands away and took care of washing up himself.

The ping of the water against ceramic stopped without warning and then they were stepping back onto the cool tile of the bathroom. Harry wrapped Louis in a towel that was no longer soft or fluffy and rubbed at his arms with the rough terrycloth.

Louis held onto it for wont of anything else to do while Harry grabbed his own towel.

“I’m exhausted, Lou,” Harry said, his voice still rough. “Can we sleep?”

Louis breathed deep through his nose but the generic clean scent of the soap was masking the vanilla. Tears pressed against his eyes, but he refused to let any more drop right now.

“Yes, Haz,” he said, softly, so softly. He held out his hand. “Let’s sleep.”

**~~~**

At first Louis thought he was still sleeping. There was warmth and happiness and softness all around him in a way that there hadn’t been in a very long time. As he registered the heavy weight of Harry’s arm draped over his waist, he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

During the war, he hadn’t even found peace in dreams. At best, there was nothing. Those were his favorite nights, when he went to sleep and then woke as if no time had passed. He wished that’s how the war itself had gone.

Most nights, though, had been terrifying landscapes where all he could smell was burning flesh and all he could hear were screams and the idea of vanilla and sugar and laughter were painful in their impossibility.

Dreams had never been like this. Solid. Strong. Lovely. So lovely.

He yawned and twisted so that he was nuzzling at Harry’s jaw. The boy snuffed, grumpy in his sleepiness, but Louis just smiled.

And then he remembered the silence. The tenseness that had never been between them before, the awkwardness that had stripped years of intimacy down to nothing. He pulled back a little and wished he could see Harry’s face.

Instead his hand found the heartbeat that would always be his as much as it was Harry’s. The slow steadiness of it grounded him.

“Lou,” Harry mumbled and Louis’ own heart skipped at the way Harry said his name. Like it was something precious. Whatever was wrong with him, he didn’t think about it in his sleep, didn’t remember why there should be distance in those hazy moments right before coming awake.

“Harry,” Louis whispered back, hoping he wouldn’t break the delicate spell.  

Burying his hand in Louis’ hair, Harry rolled him onto his back and kissed him. It was a Sunday morning kind of kiss, slow and sweet and searching but not quite sensual yet. Louis pressed up into Harry, whose thigh had slipped between Louis’ legs. It didn’t take long for the kiss to shift into something deeper.

But Louis couldn’t quite shake the lingering doubts. He pulled back a little bit. “Harry, Harry, talk to me,” he said, threading his fingers through Harry’s short hair. It was still silky, but the curls were gone and Louis mourned them for just a moment.

Harry buried his face in the crook of Louis’ neck and muttered something, while still mouthing along the skin there.

“Harry, please. Talk to me,” Louis heard the quiver in his own voice and swallowed hard. This was Harry. His Harry. He would never leave him grasping and confused in the darkness. “Harry.”

The last was a plea, and it broke something between them. Harry rolled off him with an abruptness that was startling and left Louis cold.   

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Harry said, with the voice of a stranger.

“No.” Panic turned his belly to ice. “No, Harry. Just. Just talk to me, alright?”

“I have to…” and then the bed dipped and shifted and Louis knew Harry was standing, rummaging for his clothes.

“Harry, don’t leave,” Louis demanded, turning his voice sharp and commanding, in hopes of cutting through whatever walls Harry had up. “We’ll make a cuppa. We’ll talk.”

Everything was dark and quiet, and Louis was so fucking scared. All he wanted was for Harry to come back, to hold him again, to reassure him that he wasn’t leaving that he wasn’t going to break Louis’ heart by doing so.

Still, Harry didn’t say anything, and Louis heard the heavy thud of boot against wood and knew his time was dwindling.

“What the fuck, Harry.” Maybe anger would penetrate. Louis didn’t even try to control the emotion in his voice. “You fucking asshole. Don’t fucking do this, Harry.”

“I can’t right now, Lou,” Harry said, and then the bedroom door snicked shut and he was gone. Louis knew he was gone.

Pain, sharp and vicious and overwhelming, sliced against his tender skin. Everything was already so raw from the happiness he’d let himself have, the joy and warmth, and now it was just dark and cold and empty. He clutched Harry’s pillow to his face to muffle the sobs as he drowned in vanilla.   



	11. Chapter 11

**~~~**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**~~~**

Somehow Louis managed to drag himself from the den of blankets and pillows he’d burrowed into for far too long. It was hard to gauge what time it was when he didn’t know when they’d originally woken up. And even then, it had felt like hours, days, weeks before he stopped crying enough to pull on shorts. 

LottIe helped him maintain a precise system, so that he was able to grab them easily and find a sweater to tug on. 

She was in the kitchen, he could tell from the clang of pots and pans that were too loud against his eardrums. He didn’t want to hear them, he didn’t want to hear anything other than Harry’s sleep-saturated voice saying his name like it meant something. If only they could go back to that. 

He stumbled through the doorway and collapsed against the counter. 

“Tea?” His voice was ragged and broken. 

“Oh shit,” Lottie whispered. He wondered if the gnawing pain and unrelenting fear that barred its teeth like a wild animal in his chest could be seen in what must be the bags underneath his red rimmed eyes and the paleness of his skin. “What the fuck happened?”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “I don’t know. Nothing was right almost from the start. After the first kiss. He…”

“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered already and he laughed, surprising them both. It hurt a bit, like shards of glass.

“That’s not, no. There’s something wrong,” he said, still trying to wrap his own head around it. What he needed to do was see past the hurt, but that was really fucking hard at the moment. “I said I loved him. He never said it back.”

“I’m gonna fucking get my knife and then I’m gonna go over there and...,” she was talking more to herself now than to him, and he straightened. 

“Seriously, Lottie, no.” He held out a hand in her general direction. The small, anxious movements stopped, but he still didn’t trust her not to go find Harry and cut off his balls, so he shifted a bit to block the door. “I have to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” 

“Yes. He does,” Louis corrected gently. Strangely, talking her off the ledge was helping himself slide back away from the abyss. “He’s been through something beyond traumatic, Lots. He’s shocked and hurt and bleeding even if he’s physically whole. He needs me right now, even if he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t want my help.”

Lottie heaved a dramatic sigh, but the air shifted, lost some of its tension, and the banging on pots started once more. “Fine. If you say so.”

The corners of his lips tipped up. “As if you ever listen to what I have to say.”

She was in front of him before he could realize she was crossing the room, her hands cupping his jaw. “I trust you with my life, Lou. I’m not sure I trust him with your heart just right now, but you know him best. And I do trust you. So.”

Then she tapped his cheek once and moved back to the stove. “What are you going to do about this exactly?”

“The hell if I know.”

They didn’t go to Anne’s that night for the first time in years.

**~~~**

There were few places Louis could really escape. It wasn’t like he could take a long walk in the city to clear his head. He did that often just to test himself, to make sure he was as capable as his mum always wanted him to be. But it required focused attention and he didn’t have that at the moment. Going back to the roof was not an option, either. The air there was heavy with memories, and right now Louis needed some emotional clarity and distance -- not to just sink back into the bliss that was them falling in love. 

It was late, well after Lottie had excused herself to bed, when he made his way down to the garage. The night was quiet, save for the muted sounds of the city. But their street was empty and he quickly let himself in, his movements easy and familiar. 

They’d had a car come in just before closing that neither he nor Zayn had gotten a chance to work on yet. It was set up in the far bay, and Louis made his way over across a floor that was uncluttered with tools or rags. He was manic in his need for order and neatness and thank God Zayn realized how important it was. It made him feel safe in his own space, which wasn’t always the case outside his home and his garage. And anywhere he was with Harry.

He didn’t bother with overalls as he was willing to sacrifice the thin Henley to the grease gods if they so desired it. 

Popping the hood up over the engine, he let his fingers trail over the innards of the beast. It was a tangle of metal and rubber and gadgets that he knew like the back of his hand. Soothing and mindless, exactly what he needed

Probing at the raw, gaping wound that was pulsing sadly beneath his heart wasn’t as easy. It hurt. God, it hurt. Harry had never done that to him before, left him scared and off-balance and vulnerable when he needed him the most. The unshakable trust he’d always had in his boy had been cracked, and Louis only hoped it wasn’t a permanent break. 

He’d known something was off, he had. But Harry had just come back from six years in hell. Expecting him to be who he once was, that hopeful boy who so carelessly talked about cottages and dogs and breakfasts by the sea, was foolish. To expect Louis to be the same person he’d been then was equally daft.

Their childhood love had held them together through the war, when they both needed something pure to which to cling. But now that Harry was back, it was no longer a dream under a star-filled sky with promises neither of them had really believed. It was reality, it was nightmares, and ghosts that may never leave them alone, and trying to live in a world that had shown itself to nurture hatred in its belly. It was going to be hard. 

They’d never shied away from hard before. Not when the darkness came for Louis, not when the whispers followed them when they held hands in the streets, not when it would have been so, so easy to not be in love with each other.

This was going to be a new kind of hard, though. It was going to be learning each other again, despite thinking they already knew every nook and cranny. It was going to be stumbling over fights they never saw coming. It was going to be holding each other through the panic and the nighttime when those bombs that were only a memory still fell. 

But there was never going to be a time anymore where it wasn’t him and Harry. Together. That just wasn’t an option. Those vows might have been spoken under a haze of young love that was certain forever and always meant only one more night, but they were true and strong. Maybe the only thing that still was. 

He and Harry. They were what was right in this fucked up world. And Harry didn’t get to just decide that wasn’t the case anymore.

It took another few hours until his mind settled with a plan. It was a little longer still until he could sink back into his bed that smelled of his boy and sleep. But when he did, it was dreamless. 

**~~~**

Anne opened the door. Lavender. She always smelled of lavender and home. “Oh Louis,” she sighed, and her heart was poured into each syllable. It was broken, just like his was. “He’s...I’m sorry. He’s. I can’t.”

He shook his head to cut off anymore half-apologetic thoughts. “No. It’s alright. I don’t need to see him. Or, I’d like to but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?” 

His palm was slick, and he was quick to hand over the ivory stationary so that it didn’t pick up the moisture. “Can you give that to him?”

There was a pause, and he wondered what was on her face. Pity? Hope? He wouldn’t know and it was painful to speculate. 

“Of course, love,” she finally whispered. 

“Thank you.” He turned before the urge to push past her and yell for Harry overcame his self-control. 

It was early and the streets were mostly empty on his walk back to the garage. A gentleman passed him at one point muttering something rude, but Louis tuned him out. Instead he thought about the letter.

Something had told him Harry wasn’t ready for a face-to-face confrontation. So he’d sought solace in the only connection they’d had for so many years.

**~~~**

_ Dear H, _

_ Do you remember how our mums planned our wedding? Do you remember which flower they chose for our decorations? Lilacs. For first loves.  _

_ You were and will always be my first love. The boy who climbed trees to save cats and swore animals fell in love and sat with his best friend while all the other boys ran wild in the streets. The boy who baked a cake with the last of the eggs even when your mum spanked you raw for it because you wanted me to have a birthday cake. The boy who laughed at my jokes and held me when I cried even when I was too old to cry. _

_ No matter what you have seen, no matter what you have done, there will always be a part of us that are those two boys who fell so deeply and so irrevocably in love with each other.  _

_ Here’s a lilac, my love. I hope you hold it to your heart and think of those boys with as much fondness as I do. They were sweet, and did not yet know what evil and hatred were, not really. It made their love pure and easy. But one flower does not a bouquet make. Just like one moment in time does not make a love story.  _

_ You are my forever, you are my always. _

_ Always in my heart, _

_ Louis _

**~~~**

It was Anne who opened the door three days later. Smelling of lavender, smelling of home.

“He cried, Lou,” Anne whispered, as if Harry was lurking in the shadows eavesdropping.

Louis’ stomach dropped. But Anne must have read the distress on his face, because she reached out and cupped his cheek. “That’s a good thing, baby. He’s been walking around like an empty shell since he’s returned. It’s a good thing.”

So he nodded and handed her the second letter, then turned and walked away without saying a word.

**~~~**

_ Dear H, _

_ I called off our friendship one time. It was done, completely over. I can almost feel the wrinkle of your confused brow beneath my thumb. That’s because you never knew of it, darling. _

_ We were about 14 and 12 I think, and Liam Payne just moved into the neighborhood. He was all you could talk about for days and days. I wanted to punch him in the nose before I’d even met him. It was all I could do not to throw a proper strop when you invited him along to one of  _ our  _ adventures. Who are we going to be today, Lou? You asked, as you always did. I was feeling quite jealous and petty and I said pirates because I wanted him to walk the plank. But I had to pretend I didn’t care so I said you two could be warring pirate kings (I’m quite proud of my 14-year-old self for that, I’ll have you know) because they were the best characters. _

_ You huffed out a breath and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. He shouldn’t be a king, Lou, you said. That’s just for us. He can be our cabin boy. And then you giggled and everything righted itself.  _

_ You are my very best friend, my darling. You know me. You know my faults and my fears and my weaknesses. You know what makes me laugh and what makes me light up and what makes me the happiest. You cheer on my successes and hold my hand through my failures.  _

_ I always thought that’s all I would get, and still it was enough for me. Because being friends with each other makes us the best version of ourselves. We make each other better and stronger, not because we complete each other, but because we lift each other up. _

_ Here is a yellow rose for friendship. And if that’s all we have, you will still be my forever, you will still be my always. _

_ Always in my heart, _

_ Louis _

**~~~**

He slipped the third one into the mailbox two days later, unwilling to face Anne again. There was a blush on his cheeks that would give him away, and he thought he would possibly die of embarrassment if he had to talk to her while holding this particular letter.

**~~~**

_ Dear H, _

_ That night was the best of my life. It was hard for me, not being able to see boys. I loved their smell and the way their muscles felt beneath my fingertips. I liked broad shoulders and flat stomachs and the hint of hardness beneath trousers if we ended up pressed together in a too-tight space.  _

_ Of course, most of this was down to you, but it wasn’t all you. There were other boys who smelled good and had silky hair. But none that I wanted to really do anything with. I thought of you when I got myself off, the sound of your voice in my head telling me how pretty I looked doing it. _

_ And then beyond my wildest dreams, that fantasy became a reality. It was so good, H. I felt alive for the first time in my life, really. My blood, my heart, my soul were on fire. But what made it really good? How much I trusted you. Giving that over to someone else was beautiful and freeing in a way I never could have imagined.  _

_ Here is a tulip for passion. I will never, never stop wanting to give you my trust, darling. (Yes, Lottie is blushing to the very tips of her hair, sorry, see the things you put us through?). _

_ You are my forever, you are my always. _

_ Always in my heart, _

_ Louis _

**~~~**

“I can’t believe you made me write that one.” Lottie was still grumbling three days later. But she was in a good mood. Tommy had written and he was on his way to London. He’d been snagged up in paperwork and chaos coming back into the country but he was only a week away. It was all Lottie could do to keep still. It also made her a little nicer when he asked her to write his next letter.

**~~~**

_ Dear H, _

_ I know you think you’ve changed. I know you’ve seen things and done things you’ll never want to talk about. Those things have become shameful barbs that are now stuck to your soul. You think I will cut my fingers on their sharp edges. You think I will not recognize you, and only see the ugliness of them. You think they are in so deep that they’ve  _ changed  _ who you are.  _

_ But they couldn’t, they don’t. You are you my lovely, wonderful man. I could tell you so many stories that prove what a decent, pure person you were before the war, but that’s not what you need. You know you were good, then. _

_ Let me tell you a different story. Three months into the Blitz, I was working too late in the garage when the first explosion hit. It couldn’t have been more than two blocks away. It rocked the entire building and I thought that was the end, I really did. Zayn had already left, so I was alone. I curled in the corner and thought of you. I didn’t realize what the banging on the door was until it had already gone on for several minutes. It was a young woman and her daughter. They were begging to come in, trying to seek shelter, pleading with me. _

_ H, I couldn’t get my legs to work. I couldn’t stand up and cross to the door and unlock it, let them in. I don’t know how long they were out there, but their voices were eventually drowned out by the bombs. I think about them every day. _

_ Would you forgive me my cowardice? Will I never be allowed to be happy because of that one moment in my life? How many moments like that warrant a sentence of a lifetime of despair?  _

_ Here is a gladiolus for strength of character. I have never been more sure of yours. _

_ You are my forever, you are my always. _

_ Always in my heart,  _

_ Louis _

**~~~**

The last one burned a hole in his jacket pocket as he knocked on Anne’s door. It had been two weeks since he’d seen Harry, since he’d started sending his letters. He’d heard nothing from the boy, and he didn’t know where to go from here if this didn’t work. 

“Louis,” Anne murmured when she opened the door. “My love, thank you.”

“What? Why?” It threw him enough, this immediate gratitude, that he almost forgot why he was there.

“I don’t know what’s in those letters you keep sending,” Anne said, her voice watery. “But whatever it is. They’re bringing him home, baby. You’re bringing him home.”

He pressed his lips together, knowing if he started to speak it would come out a sob. She couldn’t know, she couldn’t know what her words meant. Shoving the thick paper into her hands, he took off at as close to a run as he could manage.

**~~~**

_ Dear H, _

_ This is my last flower for you. Yes I know it’s not the final one in the bouquet (that is assuming you even remembered that stupid “bouquet” I sent you so many years ago and I suppose that is assuming a lot). But it seemed appropriate to end on this one. You are splendidly beautiful inside and out and you already know that, so I’ll save the florist the amaryllis. _

_ This one, though. This one is perhaps the most important. More important than friendship and first love and strength of character. Alright, just as important.  _

_ It is patience. I have waited for you my whole life, Harry. I have waited for you through six years of hell. And I will wait for however long it takes for you to pull your head out of your arse. _

_ I will wait for you forever. I will wait for you always.  _

_ But more, I think we are going to have to have patience with each other. We both have new scars we have to be delicate with, we both have new annoyances that have no origin, we both have stubbornness wrought in the fire of battle. You and I, we’ll need patience.  _

_ Here is an aster, my love, to get us started. _

_ Always in my heart, _

_ Louis _


	12. Chapter 12

**~~~**

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**~~~**

Louis and Lottie had already settled down with their tea when the pounding started. It was so reminiscent to that memory he’d just relived for Harry, his pulse froze beneath the delicate skin of his wrist. The war was over, though. The war was over. It was a mantra that he repeated to himself in moments like this when he needed to get his breathing back under control.

Lottie was already up and across the room, cracking the door. “Oh, Harry.”

And that, that, sent him reeling once more. He’d hoped Harry would come, but now that he was here, Louis realized he was not prepared for it. Nor for the flood of emotions that swept into his brain and his chest and all his empty spaces. 

“I need to see him,” Harry said from the hallway, his voice rough even at a distance. Louis wondered if he’d ever get to hear it slow and smooth again.

“I’m not sure…”

“Lottie, please.” Harry begged, and the way the word broke shattered Louis’ heart. 

“It’s alright, Lots,” Louis said quietly. There was a pause, where she may have been trying to read his face, but he kept it carefully blank. And then Harry was in front of him, all ragged breaths and unsettled limbs and vanilla. 

“Why?” The boy asked, and there was too much to answer right here, right now, with Lottie watching. 

He tilted his head toward where she must be standing and she started mumbling something about leaving them be.

“No, it’s too late for you to go out, Lottie,” Louis protested. “We’ll leave. It’s fine. It’s fine.” She had already started protesting before he could even finish. 

Harry didn’t say anything as Louis continued to reassure her while slipping on his coat. Harry didn’t say anything as they made their way down the stairs. Harry didn’t say anything as they started toward their building, their roof, on some unspoken agreement.

It wasn’t until they were underneath the sky once more, back on familiar territory that Harry spoke. 

“Why?” He asked again.

They hadn’t laid down, of course. That was for best friends and lovers and those who wanted to share intimacy in the darkest parts of night. Instead, Louis leaned against the high wall ringing the edge of the roof, with Harry pacing in front of him. 

“Because I love you,” Louis said. This wasn’t the time to hide, this wasn’t the time for weakness. This was the time to bare his soul, and hopefully have Harry do the same. It was going to be hard, but the possible payoff was worth it. A lifetime with Harry or being miserable without him. Honesty didn’t seem too high a price. Even if he was cutting his heart out and willfully handing it to someone who seemed primed to reject it.

“You don’t,” Harry said, and Louis flinched, even though he was expecting it. Harry was a wounded animal right now, lathered and frightened and lashing out instead of asking for help.

“Do you love me?” Louis asked instead of arguing.

There was silence. So much silence, Louis thought he might drown in it. Harry had stopped his agitated pacing, had stopped moving, had stopped breathing. 

“Don’t make me say it.”

The very breath caught in Louis’ esophagus and he swallowed hard against the pain of it. This was his chance. This was their chance. “That you don’t love me?”

Harry didn’t answer, and it lit a tiny spark of hope in Louis’ belly. One he was too familiar with.

“Or that you still do?”

A tiny whimper escaped Harry’s otherwise impenetrable facade. 

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll walk away, Harry.” It was a risk. But it was one he was willing to take. 

“I don’t.” Harry stopped. Stepped closer. “I don’t love you.”

Louis wanted to double over with the pain of it, to curl into a ball and weep for everything that they were and could be. To weep for his cottage and his breakfasts and his damn dogs.

“Make me actually believe it, and I’ll walk away,” he said instead of collapsing to the ground.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry cursed, and there was venom in it. He wanted it to sting. Too bad Louis was numb to anything other than the wound the boy had already inflicted.

“You can’t do it,” Louis challenged, wondering how long he could hold onto the bravado. Maybe Harry didn’t love him. Maybe everything that was wrong in the world had become too much for them. Maybe they weren’t as strong as he’d once thought. 

Doubt. It was one thing he’d never let himself sit with for very long. Worry and fear and an inescapable sense of impending doom, yes. But he’d never really doubted what they were. To each other.

“Walk away, Lou,” Harry said. “You deserve…”

“What? What do I deserve?” And now they were getting to it. That little fire burned brighter and chased away the darkness. 

“God. Someone who’s not me.”

“Why do you get to tell me who and what I deserve?” Louis challenged. Anger was good. Anger held the fear and panic at bay. They were still there, straining at their chains. But for now, they were held back. 

Harry didn’t have an answer to that, because of course he didn’t have an answer to that. 

“Let me ask you one question,” Louis said, crossing his arms across his chest. All of a sudden he felt too vulnerable. “Did you keep the picture?”

Harry's boots stuttered against the ground, like Louis had surprised him. 

The agreement, when it finally came, was reluctant and hesitant. “Yes.”

“The entire time?”

“Yes,” Harry drew out the word. He knew he was walking into some kind of trap but he couldn’t see clearly what it was. 

But it wasn’t a trap. It was proof. It was something that Louis could hold onto in the next few minutes when everything got really hard, and it made that fire burn like wild.

“What did you do that makes you so unworthy of me?” Louis asked, spreading his arms wide, hoping to portray how ridiculous that idea was. 

“It wasn’t one thing, Lou.” Harry was pacing again. Louis wished he could reach out and grab him, pull him closer, so that they could feel each other’s heartbeats. It might settle his boy. But that wasn’t the right move. So he just stayed, propped up against the wall, as Harry was a whirlwind of anxiety in front of him. “You told me one sad story and think it’s the same.”

“I don’t think it’s the same,” Louis interrupted. “I don’t think it’s the same at all. I’m just asking you to treat yourself with the same kindness with which you would treat me. Harry?”

“What?” It was bitten off, angry and mean.

“What could I do that you wouldn’t forgive me for?” Louis whispered, unable to back down, unable not to push. Not when they were so goddamn close to having everything. “Tell me what.”

Harry may have shaken his head, may have stopped and started in a hesitant jerk, may have shrugged, helpless. Louis could only guess because he didn’t answer.

“Kill someone?”

“No,” Harry said.

“You would forgive me for that?” Louis clarified.

“Of course,” Harry muttered. Of course. It was said with such ease Louis’ heart clenched. His poor love. 

“Killed your mum?”

“I mean, you wouldn’t.” There was almost, almost a smile in his voice. Not one big enough for his dimple to pop out, but a hint of amusement nonetheless.

“Would you love me still?” Louis pushed.

The silence dropped, heavy and charged between them. “Yes,” Harry whispered. “I can’t imagine ever not loving you. Even if I hated you, too.”

“Then why do you think I could ever imagine not loving you?’ Louis knew his frustration was leaking through, but he didn’t care. This was frustrating.

“It’s different.”

“Why?” Louis pressed.

“Because it is, Lou.”

Louis all but growled. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to be loved and I don’t,” Harry shouted. The words rang out loud and sharp against the night. Louis felt them in his bones, he felt them in his heart, he felt them in the soft spaces of his body. 

“Oh baby,” he crooned, and then he heard Harry drop to the ground. Louis was on him in a second, his arms wrapped around the trembling boy. The shivers and sobs wracked Harry’s body so that they must be painful. They must be. 

Louis did what he could. He gathered Harry onto his lap and stroked his back and murmured nonsense words into his neck as he cradled him. 

They sat that way for a long time, ignoring the coldness of the concrete beneath them, ignoring the strain in their muscles, ignoring everything but each other’s bodies and the way they fit. The way they offered comfort.

“Darling,” Louis finally whispered, tugging at Harry’s baby soft strands to make sure he was paying attention. “I know you’re hurting. And I know that’s not something that’s just going to go away or heal itself. I know you hate things about yourself right now that make you think you’re unworthy of my love. I’m not asking you to make yourself believe you are.”

Harry sniffled into his neck. “You’re not?”

“No, baby,” Louis said. “We’ll work on that together. I’m asking you right now to be selfish. Really, really selfish. And tell me what that looks like. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. If you were being a selfish arse, what would you want?”

Ducking his face back into the curve beneath Louis’ jaw, Harry mumbled something Louis couldn’t hear. “What’s that, love?”

He felt Harry’s inhale against his skin, and pressed his thumb into the bone at the top of Harry’s spine. 

“You.”

“Me?” Louis smiled faintly. Because maybe. Maybe. 

“I want you.”

God, they were so close. “In what way?”

“Forever,” Harry whispered.

“Always?” Louis asked into his hair, as tears ran down his cheeks.

Harry was quiet, but then Louis felt Harry’s fingers searching for his own. They locked palms. 

“Yes.”

**~~~**

“I’m not selfish, though, Lou,” Harry said. Somehow they’d shifted so they were lying down, with Harry’s head cradled into the nook of Louis’ shoulder. It was different than how they used to be, but Louis thought a lot of things were going to be different now.

“I know, love,” Louis said lightly, despite what he knew Harry was trying to say. 

“I can’t just.” Harry paused, and the silence was loaded. “I can’t just be selfish.”

“And you say you’re not a good man,” Louis teased. Because that’s the only way he was going to survive this. 

“Lou.”

He sighed. “I needed to know you still want this. Even if you think it’s selfish, even if you think it will all fall apart and I’ll end up hating you for the man you’ve become. I can take anything, but I couldn’t take forcing you into something you didn’t want.”

“Of course I want you,” Harry’s lips were wet and hot against Louis’ neck. 

Louis laughed. “You say that as if it’s a given.”

“It is,” Harry said.

“You make that seem like a promise, and you’re not ready to keep those,” Louis said. 

It shut Harry up. 

“Do you know what I’ve always like about us?” Louis asked, breathing in the sweat beneath the soft sugary vanilla of his boy. He liked the earthiness, liked the realness of it.

“Hmmm?” There was something hopeful in Harry’s voice that Louis didn’t want to latch onto.

“We know how to argue.”

Harry let out a surprised little laugh. “That’s a good thing?”

Louis hummed and knew Harry could feel it against his hand where it rested just below Louis’ heart. “Do you ever think how we only had those few moments before you left? Brighton. The roof. Your birthday.”

“All the time.”

“It wasn’t a real relationship,” Louis said, and it hurt a little. But sometimes the truth did. “We saw each other as a fairytale.”

“We were young,” Harry said. 

“There was something romantic about it, though, wasn’t there?” Louis asked. “You were going off to war, I was going to wait for you. We had one last night to share.”

Harry’s lips twitched against Louis’ skin. “What does this have to do with arguing?”

“Right, right,” Louis pinched at the soft skin above Harry’s waistband, just to be annoying. “Like I said in the letters, I think that gave us something to hold. In the darkest days of the war we still had a fairytale.”

“But the war is over.”

“The war is over,” Louis agreed. “And here we are in our ‘happily ever after.’ Does it feel like that to you?”

Harry laughed. “No.”

Louis found the spot where Harry’s dimple would be with his thumb, and pushed against it, wishing his boy was smiling. “I’m going to court you.”

“What?”

“We never got to do that,” Louis mused. “I’m going to court you, alright?”

Harry shrugged, and Louis smiled at the movement. 

“What does that have to do with arguing?” Harry pushed.

“Characters in fairy tales don’t argue,” Louis said. “Real people do, though. I think we’re going to argue a lot.”

“You’re happy about that?” 

“No,” Louis laughed. “But it’s what’s going to happen. And the fact that we can argue and not hurt each other irreparably is probably a good thing.”

“I don't ever want to hurt you.” Harry pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“But you will,” Louis said. “And that’s alright. I’ll hurt you too, probably.”

“Because we’re not a fairytale?”

“Because we’re so much more.”


	13. Chapter 13

**~~~**

_PART FOUR: ‘YOU BRING ME HOME’_

1945-46 london & cornwall

**~~~**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**~~~**

When they’d been younger, everything had been intense. Their friendship. Then their love. Louis didn’t want him and Harry to fall back into that pattern. It would be too easy, too easy to pretend they were the same people they had been then.

And as much as Harry had changed, Louis had, too. He wanted Harry to know him, to know who he’d become, just as much as he wanted to learn Harry again.

So when he started courting Harry, he kept it light. Gone were the days of those declarations of undying devotion and heartbeats and vows under stars.

In their place was something sweet and enticing and gentle. Like cool champagne on a warm summer night.

For the first outing, Louis took a precious Saturday afternoon off. It was their busiest day, and he didn’t like to leave Zayn alone. The man waved him off with his characteristic nonchalance, and Louis thought there was a fondness in the way he did it that eased some of his guilt.

There was a cafe down the street, still in their neighborhood where the cover of familiarity would let them be easy with each other, but fancy enough that it felt like more than a night at the pub with the lads.

Lottie had helped him pick out what to wear. The weather had turned cooler, so she put him in a pair of loose maroon trousers that she said made his arse look particularly good and a white button-down tucked into the high-waisted pants.

“I look like an idiot, don’t I?” He was nervous. Which was new. Sweaty palms, butterflies, everything.

“You look very handsome,” Lottie said, running her fingers through his hair to adjust the fringe he was sure to mess up five minutes later.

“It’s just lunch,” he muttered, but held still for her ministrations anyway. “Don’t know why I’m making a big deal of it.”

“Maybe because you care,” Lottie said. “I think it’s adorable. You’re practically an old married couple and you’re going on your first date.”

“Oh good, adorable. Just what I’m going for.”

Lottie shoved at his shoulder. “It will be wonderful.”

“I hope,” he whispered.

When he arrived at Harry’s stoop--third one down after turning right two times and left three times--he knocked and couldn’t help but compare it to the weeks before. When he stood there with his heart cut out and poured onto a page that Harry may or may not read.

Before, even Anne’s sweet encouragement had been laced with sadness. Now it was pure excitement that had her wrapping him in her arms. “Thank you for being gentle with him, Lou.”

He squeezed back, and some of his nerves dissolved. “You never have to thank me for anything to do with Harry,” he said.

“I know,” Anne murmured. “That’s what makes it even better.”

Louis cleared his throat and stepped back, adjusting his shirt a bit. “Mrs. Styles. I’m here to pick up Harry.”

“Of course.” She put on her best posh accent that tugged on the corners of his lips. “And what are you intentions with my son?”

He grinned this time and the remaining tension dissolved. “I’d like to make him happy for the rest of his life. But for today, I’d like to take him to lunch.”

“Well. That should do,” she said on a sniff that sounded suspiciously real. “Come on in. I’ll get him.”

And then Harry was there. There was a faint earthiness to the vanilla today, as if he’d been sweating nervously as well. The Louis who was his best friend would have teased him for it. The Louis who was picking him up for their first date kept his mouth shut.

“Hi, Lou,” Harry said, and his voice was softer than it had been since he’d come back, some of the rough edges of it smoothed down.

“Hi, Harry,” he said, at a bit of a loss. The nerves were rushing back the second his scent had hit Louis, and all of a sudden he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Did people stand with their hands on their hips? Should he shake Harry’s? Would it be weird if he suddenly just started clapping? Probably it would be.

He wished he’d brought flowers so at least there would have been something to do. But he thought that might be too closely tied to what they had been and what they could be. Not to what they were now.

There was no helping it. He’d have to charge forward, no matter what his hands decided to do. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Harry said, stepping up beside him so that his shoulder brushed against Louis’. It wasn’t just to touch for touching’s sake. It was to let Louis know where he was and that he was moving. The simple act must be second-nature to the boy by now.

Louis bit back a smile. It was going to be alright.

They walked in silence to the restaurant. Technically it was called the Jabberwocky, but everyone called it the Cafe. The cozy shop was run by a retired professor who was continuously disgruntled by the sheer lack of appreciation the neighborhood had for his love of Lewis Carroll. Louis had splurged a year or so back and taken Lottie there after a particularly rough month. They’d had tea, and gorged on tiny cakes that tasted of sugar and indulgence.

The host sat them at a table that Harry said was right by the window with a good view of the street. He wondered if Harry liked to keep his back to the walls and his eyes on the exit now.

Harry read off a few items from the menu, but Louis was too off-balance to actually make a decision, so he had Harry pick for him. Then they sat without speaking, the only sound between them the constant and steady tap of Louis’ finger against the table top. Louis hated this. And also maybe loved it? Wasn’t this how first dates were supposed to go? Awkward and unsure and constantly thinking you were going to fuck it all up.

“Tell me about Tommy,” he finally blurted out. It was a safe topic, one that wasn’t tied to their past, yet wasn’t loaded with everything terrible about the war.

Harry huffed out a little relieved laugh and Louis wondered if he’d been just as tense. Either way, he seized on the conversational lifeline. “Oh, he’s great. We met one of my first days there. He’s funny, but not in an obvious way. But mostly he’s just really sweet. He was real appreciative about Lottie.”

“I think she loves him,” Louis said, smiling. “She thinks I think she’s foolish for it.”

“Do you think she’s foolish?”

At one point Harry would have known the answer to that without having to ask. “No.”

Harry hummed low in his throat. “They’ve never even met.”

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” Louis shot back. “It almost makes it more real.”

Harry shifted so that his knee brushed against Louis’. “What do you mean?”

“Phoebe got married,” Louis said, and smiled at Harry’s congratulations. “They went on three dates and then he proposed.”

“Good lord,” Harry laughed, and Louis was glad for it.

“Do you think she knew what his nightmares are?” Louis asked and this was verging into territory that was too heavy. He’d wanted to stay out of the deep end.

“No,” Harry whispered.

“Do you think Lottie knows. What Tommy’s are?” Louis asked.

There was a moment where Louis wondered if Harry just wouldn’t answer. But then.

“Yes.” It was soft and low and Louis almost missed it.

“I don’t think finding love is foolish,” Louis said. “I don’t think the intensity of war negates emotions that are felt during that time. Maybe they’re amplified. Maybe. But that doesn’t make them false.”

The sandwiches arrived then. It broke the tension in the air, and Louis was thankful for it. And on top of that, the meal finally gave him something to do with his hands. They were quiet until the server walked away, with a little, “Enjoy, lads.”

“How do you trust it, though?” Harry finally asked. He hadn’t dug in yet, Louis could tell. He must have been thinking, chewing on that plush bottom lip, worrying the words around in his head until they came out in a semblance of a sentence.

“Are we still talking about Lottie?”

Harry breathed in deep and then moved again, so that his ankle hooked around Louis’. “Yes.”

“I don’t know, Haz,” Louis said, because he didn’t think they were still talking about Lottie. “You don’t, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s really excited to see him, ya know?” Louis said. “But what if she doesn’t like the look of him?”

“She will,” Harry muttered, and Louis grinned, quick and easy.

“Lottie doesn’t know that,” he said anyway. “She doesn’t even know that what he wrote to her was true. That maybe he thought he was going to die so he said things he didn’t mean.”

And now they were far too close to home for what was supposed to be a first date. Harry didn’t say anything.

“She knows what he has nightmares about, though,” Louis said again. It meant something. He wanted Harry to get that.

“You know,” Harry said, so quietly.

“I know what?” Louis was going to make him say it.

Harry unhooked his ankle and Louis immediately missed the contact. “My nightmares.”

It felt like a breakthrough even though it probably wasn’t. Louis tipped his head back, and reveled in it anyway. “I do.”

He picked up his sandwich then because that was that. But he made sure his thigh was pressed against Harry’s under the table when he asked. “So tell me about the food. Was it dreadful?”

**~~~**

Their second date was to the cinema. Harry picked the film, an absolutely terrible flick called Blithe Spirit full of psychics and house guests and murder most foul. Twenty minutes in, Harry started doing his own dialogue for some bits, whispering foolish things in his ear, and Louis doubled-over in laughter. Their neighbors shushed them, and Harry guffawed as Louis flipped them off.

It was stupid and silly and they ended up holding hands for the last part of the film. Their fingers tangled together in the space beneath the armrest. Like they were 16 and fresh out of the schoolroom.

Louis walked Harry home afterward, but kept his hands in his pockets. Harry nudged him every once in awhile when they should turn or stop or shift out of the way. But for the most part they just ambled.

Harry told him about the friends he’d made over the past six years. “This bloke, Jack his name was. Louis, you would have loved him. He came up with this game for us to play when we were bored. The thing was, if you were walking around or you know, if you locked eyes with someone, they would blow a poison dart at you. But you know it wouldn’t be a poisonous dart, it was just pretend. But if you were hit, then you had to go down on one knee and not move until someone touched your ear. It was wild, Louis.”

It was the most Harry had said in a row since he was back, and something warm bloomed in Louis’ chest. He only sort of understood what Harry was saying, his sentences rambling together until they didn’t really mean anything. But it was lovely hearing Harry excited again. Happy about something.

“You won of course?” Louis nudged his elbow into Harry’s side and the boy giggled. Actually giggled. Louis wondered if he was dreaming.

“Nooooo,” Harry drawled out. “I was the worst, Lou. Our commander had to touch my ear one time just to get me to move. I thought he was going to kill me. Us.”

Louis laughed at the idea of it all. “So was there a winner?”

“The winner was the game, Louis,” Harry said so seriously that Louis wanted to kiss him.

**~~~**

Their third date was to the park. Harry actually packed a picnic because he liked being proper domestic sometimes. It was Sunday and the garage was closed, so they walked over at 11 and stayed well past what was actually considered socially acceptable.

Harry brought a journal, the one Louis had given him, and Louis dozed off and on, lulled to sleep by the sun and the food and the feeling of Harry next to him.

“You kept writing,” Louis murmured during one of those moments where he blinked back into consciousness. He touched Harry to see where he was, and realized the boy was sitting up, hunched over his notebook, his knee pressed to Louis’ shoulder.

“Not often,” Harry said, running a quick hand through Louis’ hair. Despite striving for newness, they were too comfortable with each other. Hands found skin too often without thought, fingers explored familiar territory as if it were already claimed.

“Are you writing now?” It was important that Harry wrote, though Louis couldn’t say why.

Harry laughed. “Barely. If you could call it that.”

“Read some to me?” Louis maneuvered himself so that his head was in Harry’s lap.

Without hesitation, Harry buried his fingers in Louis’ hair, his thumb resting against the soft skin of Louis’ temple.

“Don’t laugh,” Harry said with something unreadable in his voice.

Louis nuzzled against Harry’s hand. As if he would ever laugh at his boy. “Harry, you’re brilliant. Go on.”

“Alright,” Harry drawled out. “Here’s. Um. Here’s one. Alright, here we go.” He paused, and then. “Just stop your crying//It’s a sign of the times//Welcome to the final show//Hope you’re wearing your best clothes.”

Their breathing turned ragged in the spaces between the words, and somehow matched each other’s.

“You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky//You look pretty good down here//But you ain’t really good//We never learn, we’ve been here before//Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets.”

Harry dropped silent, and Louis could hear the heartbeats, both of theirs. Fast and unsteady and racing to keep up with something they couldn’t actually catch.

“God, Harry.” Louis swore because there wasn’t anything else he could do. Everything hurt again, everything was sharp and painful at the edges and all of a sudden he didn’t want to be there, cradled in the lap of the only boy he’d ever loved.

He sat up, so that his back was to Harry. “What does it mean?”

The shrug was in Harry’s voice. “It doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

Louis turned toward him, touched his hip with careful fingers, so that they wouldn’t be seen. “What does it mean, Haz?”

It was almost November, and the air was cool around them. Louis had worn a thick jumper and he tucked his hands into the sleeves. He didn’t want to consider it was a defense mechanism. For Harry. Because what would he feel defensive about around his boy?

But something roiled in his stomach, something tainted the crisp air that slinked into the space between them.

“Is it about you?” Louis finally asked. _But you ain’t really good._ It was ringing inside his skull, ricocheting off the walls.

“No,” Harry whispered. The tip of his finger reached out to stroke over Louis’ knuckles. He jumped when skin touched skin.

Everything was supposed to be less intense. That’s what Louis had planned out. Yet here they sat, in a sun dappled lawn after feasting on cheese and meat so lovingly packed. And Louis was gone. Gone for this boy. Gone for this moment. Despite the charged silence.

“Is it about us?” Louis forced the words out between reluctant lips that were suddenly dry, chapped.

“No,” Harry said, but there was a hesitancy to his denial that Louis latched onto.

“It is.”

“No.” And this time Harry sounded like he meant it. “Just. I dunno. It’s about people.”

“You do talk some shit don’t you,” Louis said, annoyed.

“Piss off,” Harry countered. And he moved. His long limbs rearranging themselves on the blanket so that they didn’t touch any of Louis’. “It is. It’s about people. The ones who start wars, the ones that pretend they have any meaning beyond killing more of the other side than they kill of yours. Like that one letter you sent. I have seen war. I hate war.”

Louis turned back into Harry so that their shoulders touched. “So.”

Harry sighed. “It’s a little about us.”

This time Louis smirked because he liked being right. But he wasn’t going to push it. Light. He was keeping it light. “Alright.”

“That’s it? You don’t want to know more?”

“I want to know what you want to tell me, love,” Louis said. The anger and discomfort was gone from the moment, and both of them had relaxed into each other’s bodies because of it.

“I’ll tell you someday,” Harry murmured.

Louis laid back down so that his head was in Harry’s lap. “But not today.”

“No,” Harry said, carding his long fingers back through Louis’ hair. “Today is for picnics.”

“And naps.”

Just before Louis drifted off again, Harry whispered, “And us.”


	14. Chapter 14

**~~~**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**~~~**

“What are we doing today, Lou?” Sometimes it was whispered in the hallway after Sunday roast, sometimes it slipped out on a smile on a warm Tuesday morning before the city really woke up. Sometimes it was said with all the solemness of a general asking for a battlefield update.

A walk. Dinner. Darts at the pub. Louis would answer, just as giddy in the newness of this courtship.

The question became their grown-up version of that game they used to play. “Who are we going to be today, Lou?” He could still hear the slyness in his Harry’s voice, the anticipation from the hint of danger that wasn’t actually danger.

When they had been kids they could have been anything. Anyone. But these days, the desire to be someone other than themselves called too strongly for them to give into it. Neither of them spoke of it directly, but they knew those days were over.

So, they were always Harry and Lou. No longer pirates or lords or cowboys in America, but two boys who were trying to find themselves again. And maybe find each other, too.

Falling in love with Harry had never been a choice for Louis. It just was. Like breathing. Like his heartbeat. Like the familiar cobblestones of their neighborhood beneath his well-worn shoes. There was something so simple about it, so right. Like lilacs in summer. Sweet and easy, and untested by the harshness of winter frost.

Falling in love with Harry the second time was an inevitability. It wasn’t that he’d ever fallen out of love with the boy. In fact, it had been one of the few things that had held him together, that had kept him from shattering into nothingness all those years. But there was something different about it now.

Some of that came from them being different. After a few months of being home, Harry lost that starved and haunted air about him. His cheeks filled out, no longer sharp edges beneath Louis’ fingers. He didn’t didn’t flinch as often when Louis touched him without warning. He laughed sometimes. Not frequently. But sometimes.

He was more serious, more guarded, than the boy who had left at 18, that Don Quixote soul ready to tilt at windmills.

Maybe there were parts of Harry that were no longer shiny and light and filled with sunflowers. The war had burned those fields to the ground and salted the earth. But it hadn’t just been the sunflowers Louis had loved in the first place.

And the rest was still there.

It was there when Harry leaned over in the cinema, his breath warm against Louis’ ear and made up ridiculous images to go along with the melodramatic dialogue, because he wanted to keep Louis entertained.

“She just stood on the bar and started dancing the tango,” he faux-whispered as the heroine declared her everlasting love to the hero.

“You’re horrible,” Louis said, but it was on a laugh that was probably a bit too loud. He snuck his hand into Harry’s as he said it, confidant in the theater’s darkness. Harry squeezed and held on for the rest of the film.

It was there when, on one run-of-the-mill pub night the door to the gents slammed and Louis ended up under the table tucked into a tight, shivering ball. Harry’s hands on his back were the only thing in that moment that had kept him from unraveling, one frayed piece of string at a time.          

“You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe,” Harry had murmured to him in a low, soothing voice for as long as it took for Louis’ fingers to unclench around Harry’s forearm.

It was there in the swipe of Harry’s thumb over Louis’ bruised knuckles when he complained about something so trivial Louis wouldn’t even remember it in the next moment. Harry never said, “But did you hold a man when he died? Did you lose the brother fighting next to you?” Never made light of a busy day at the garage or a missing order of parts. Never shamed or guilted or got on the high horse he had every right to ride.

Louis supposed he was different, too. He’d always been a fighter, mostly because of his mum and some just because of who he was. But even that became sharper, edgier during the war. Getting his family through it in one piece had changed him. It changed the way he talked to people, the way he carried himself, the way he walked the streets.

Gone was the lad always looking for a laugh, and in his place was a man who knew what hell was like, stood just at the edge anyway and challenged anyone who wanted to drag him back down there.

That meant sometimes he couldn’t bite his tongue hard enough to stop poison-slicked words sliding out of his mouth. Never directed toward Harry. Never. But fools who wasted his time or ignorant clods who didn’t know their brains from their arseholes were no longer spared.

That meant the stubbornness they both struggled with had become even more deeply entrenched in who he was. It sunk ugly, dark roots into his chest to wrap around his ribcage. It turned silly disagreements into full out arguments, raging storms that seemed to materialize from nowhere on even the sunniest of days.

But that also meant he wouldn’t give up, turn tail and run away when the rain battered his defenses and the winds howled at him to surrender. It meant he knew there were things worth fighting for beyond the ability to survive a darkness he didn’t understand.

So they were different. And their love was different. Maybe it was an inevitability, but it was also certainly more of a choice than it ever had been before.

Each time Louis said, a walk? Dinner? Darts at the pub? And Harry said yes, they were choosing each other, this love, over fear and hate and death and sinking into an oblivion that was so eager to welcome them.

This time, Louis actually thought about falling in love, savoured the feeling like an expensive bottle of wine. He found it in individual moments, in the touch of Harry’s fingers to his wrist, in the rush of nerves when he smelled vanilla, in the laughter that no longer tasted like metallic rust in his throat.  

He found it when Harry read his poems, in that sweet, halting voice that revealed a bruised heart under the cover of pretty words.

“We’re not who we used to be. We’re not who we used to be,” Harry whispered one night, sitting on Louis’ couch with a cup of tea cradled in his hands and Louis’ head in his lap. “We’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me. Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.”

Louis thought of winds howling and rains pounding against stone walls. And he breathed deep. “That’s beautiful, Harry.”

“Yeah?” Soft, hesitant. Like he was expecting a slap that he knew Louis would never deliver.

Louis found Harry’s hand, intertwined their fingers. There was the poem from the park. There was this. There was choosing each day to fall back in love. “Do you feel like that, darling?”

“I used to, sometimes,” Harry said, the words rushing from his lips. It was more than he’d given Louis even a month earlier when he’d asked about running from bullets. Louis didn’t want to be greedy, but he held tight to each emotion laid bare, holding it to his own wounded heart. “When I was away.”

_When I was away._ As if he’d taken a trip for summer hols.     

“Do you feel like that now, darling?” Louis pushed. Because he was greedy. Always would be for anything Harry wanted to give him.

“Well,” Harry drawled out all the consonants of the word so that it stretched for far longer than it should. “We’re not who we used to be.”

“No,” Louis agreed. They weren’t.

“Lou?” Harry asked.

“Yes, love?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me, yet?”

It wasn’t what Louis had expected, though maybe he should have. Harry had been home for five months now. They no longer went to the roof every night, or ever, really, but they went on dates several times a week. Louis and Lottie trudged over to Anne’s for Sunday roast more often than not. Harry brought Louis croissants to the garage in the mornings, where previously he’d never stepped foot. But they hadn’t kissed yet.

Back when Louis decided their love, whatever was between them, was worth the fight, he made a promise to himself to be honest. No matter how much it hurt.

He nuzzled his nose against Harry’s tummy to take the sting out of his words. “Because you still read me poems about trying to find a heartbeat, love.”

Harry shuddered, like he’d drawn in a lungful of air. “Should I stop?”

“No. No. God, no,” Louis scrambled to sit up, slightly disoriented by the change in altitude. He shifted into Harry’s lap, his knees against Harry’s hips, his hands on Harry’s shoulders. He pressed his thumb into the spot where Harry’s dimple should be even though he knew it wasn’t there, and Harry’s hands settled at his waist. “You don’t get it, darling.”

“Get what?” Harry’s lips were against the base of Louis’ throat.

“I want everything,” Louis admitted, one hand creeping up into Harry’s thick hair. The silkiness was familiar and beautiful all at once. He wanted to weep with the feel of it under his fingers. “I want the moments you doubted, the moments you hated me, the moments you thought love didn’t exist just as much as I want the happy ones.”

“Why?” Harry’s fingers pressed into the divots just above Louis’ arse.

“Because it’s real, innit?” Louis dropped his forehead to Harry’s. “It’s you. It’s your heart and your soul and every piece of you, and you give it to me. Even when it hurts. You give it to me, Harry.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Louis’. Not touching. Not capturing. Just. There. “It’s all yours, Lou.”

So simple. So easy. Louis wished it were so.

“I love you,” he said, because it was true. And he was tired of letting it sit on his tongue only to swallow it out of fear of moving too fast for it to actually be real.

Harry rolled his hips under Louis, like it was a turn-on. Like Louis had whispered filthy words in Harry’s ear instead of a vow of love. They were both at least half hard and trying desperately not to seek friction against each other.

“You don’t.” Harry’s voice was jagged, broken at all the edges.

“Darling.” It was a plea. One that spoke of a patience Louis had tried to hold onto. “You know I do.”

The tips of Harry’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Louis’ trousers. “Why.”

It wasn’t even a question, the way Harry said it. Like no answer would actually satisfy, would actually erase the doubts Harry so clearly harbored in his mind. But Louis had to try. If this was the rest of his life, if convincing Harry he was worth loving was the rest of his life, Louis was alright with that.

“Because you’re beautiful,” Louis said. It may have sounded ridiculous, him of all people saying that. But Harry was. His soul, his very being was beautiful in a way that defied the superficial prettiness that he knew was there as well. He shushed Harry’s protests, and their lips almost brushed. Almost, but not quite. “You’re so kind, Harry. So kind. You listen. You find humor even when you don’t really want to. You’re brave. Yes. Yes, you are. You’re funny, in a really dry way that some people don’t get. You’re stupidly stubborn. You’re smart and pouty and humble and giving. But, you know what gets me? Everytime?”

Louis waited. Because he didn’t want Harry to be able to dodge out of this conversation. To not be an active participant.

“What’s that?” Harry finally gave in, his nose bumping Louis’ cheek.

“You’re home to me, Harry,” Louis said. Maybe this was a new love. Maybe falling felt different this time. But that would never erase what they’d always been to each other. Home. “When I’m scared and lonely and feeling like shite because a stupid fucking toilet door has me nearly weeping under a table, you’re there. You’re my solid ground.”

Harry made some strangled sound, deep in his throat. And then he surged up, closing the distance between their mouths. It was everything Louis had been dreaming about like a school kid with his first crush. Slick and hot and wet and Harry. God, he missed the taste of his boy. The way their tongues slid against each other’s, the nips of teeth against lips just on the right side of painful. Louis rolled his hips down, seeking friction and Harry groaned beneath him.

But. But he’d had a plan. It was a solid, well-thought out plan, too. It took everything he had within him to wrench himself out of Harry’s arms, off Harry’s lap. A whimper followed him, and he felt like he was balanced on some precarious ledge.

“I don’t want,” Louis panted, trying to get his thoughts arranged. “I don’t want this to get confusing.”

Harry didn’t say anything and Louis wished he wasn’t so far away now, standing in the living room, hard in his trousers. He wondered what Harry looked like, if his cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy, hair tousled from wild fingers. Louis palmed himself to get some relief and there was another whimper from the couch.

“Lou.” Harry’s voice was wrecked, Louis could hear it in the way the boy whispered his name.

And god, he wanted. He ached with it, burned with it.

Still. “We should take it slow, darling.”

“Do you.” Harry paused, and Louis braced himself. “Do you not want me?”

It wasn’t a ploy. Louis knew that soft voice, the one that hesitated before reading off a new poem in a rush of insecurity.

“Of course I want you love,” Louis edged closer to dangerous territory. He reached out, fumbling until he caught Harry’s wrist and pressed his hand to Louis’ cock. They both moaned at the contact, Louis’ hips rocking forward just a bit before he could restrain himself. “Always. How could you doubt that?”

It was important to know why. And it was part of the reason Louis didn’t just fall to his knees right there and take Harry in his mouth like he was desperate to do.

The temptation was too real, though, so he stepped away toward to the other end of the couch so that there was space between them. Their bodies still tugged at each other, the pull undeniable, but Louis pushed back against the cushion holding himself in place.

“Because.”

“Because why, Harry?” Louis asked, gentle in a way that would surprise some people.

The ticking of the old grandfather clock was the metronome to Louis’ heartbeat. It was slow and steady and not skittering off its path like may have been expected. Because they might be finally getting somewhere.

“You didn’t sign up for forever, Lou,” Harry finally said. Louis bent closer to hear on instinct, but the words didn’t make sense anyway.

“What are you about?”

Harry reached out across the space between them and touched his thumb to Louis’ outstretched palm. The connection always helped them. Reminded them that they were on the same side.

“You love me, Lou,” Harry said, and Louis relaxed. It was the first time Harry had admitted that since he’d been home.

“Yes,” Louis agreed.

“Do you love me so much you’d give me what I wanted because you thought I was going to die?”

The question was a quick and brutal slap. It stung, left its fingerprints along Louis’ skin, tingling and hot. He struggled to get air in, not because it hit too close to home, but because it was so unexpected. Out of all the things he thought Harry was struggling with, this wasn’t one of them.

“Harry…” Louis managed because he knew he had to do something other than sit there with his mouth agape.

“Please. Be honest with me, Lou. I can’t take wondering anymore.”

Honesty. Even if it’s hard. That was Louis’ promise to himself, and to Harry though it had been unspoken. This was hard. The answer wasn’t what Harry feared, but it was still hard to talk about all of this, them. To rip open festering wounds in hopes that they would heal clean in the sunlight.

“Harry, I don’t just love you,” Louis said, because he had to start somewhere. Harry’s thumb pressed deeper into the soft flesh of Louis’ palm. “I’m in love with you. Desperately. That involves…” He waved a helpless hand in between them in the vague vicinity of their groins.

“Wanting to fuck?” Harry asked and there was the barest hint of a smile in the response that allowed the tension running tight along Louis’ shoulders to ease.

“Well. Yes.” Louis flicked his finger against Harry’s knuckle. “I’m not sure how you remember that night, but it was the best of my life, Harry. You made me feel so fucking good. You in my mouth, your lips on my body, your fingers on my skin, touching in places that had never been touched by someone else before. God. Harry. That wasn’t goodbye.”

“It wasn’t?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been thinking that,” Louis said, still off-balance and trying to keep most of the incredulity from the words.

“You haven’t kissed me,” Harry said. “Maybe you didn’t actually… want. Me.”

The wobble in his boy’s voice did Louis in and he consigned well-thought out plans to hell. He closed the space between them, settling into Harry’s lap once more. “I want you so much. More than breathing,” he murmured, his lips brushing over Harry’s. It was addictive, which is why he hadn’t wanted to start in the first place.

“Then why?”

“Because you’re hurting, darling,” Louis said, pressing a quick kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw. “And so am I.”

“So you’re a bloody saint, now?” Harry’s thumb slipped beneath Louis’ shirt to settle at the base of Louis’ spine.

He laughed, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “Hardly. I’ve been going wild. Jesus, Harry, do you know how good you smell? All of the time?”

“Sometimes I wondered, you know?” Harry said. “If I’d imagined it. Or if you were just… you. My best friend playing along. Who are we going to be today?”

A protest scraped against Louis’ throat, but he swallowed and thought about it. Didn’t let his mind skitter away from the possibility just because it was unpleasant. “I think,” Louis said slowly. “That it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been leaving.”

He slapped a hand over Harry’s mouth before the boy could even think about forming a response. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. And so fucking good. I just. I would have been a chicken shit I think. I knew you would be kind about it. But I’m not sure I would have ever. You know.”

Louis kept his hand against Harry’s lips until the boy licked a fat strip along his palm. He yelped and pulled back, slapping Harry’s shoulder as he went.

Harry squeezed his hip to settle him. “The night would whisper lies so often that it was hard to tell what was real.”

The night, the darkness, it made you doubt. Louis knew what Harry meant. Had been there, in the shadows where everything shifted so that there was no solid ground.

But Harry was his solid ground.

He took Harry’s hand, held it against his heart. “This is real, darling.” He shifted Harry’s palm down so that it brushed against his now-soft cock. “This is real, darling. Forever. Always.”

Harry captured Louis’ lips once more. This time it was soft, lazy, gentle, easy, all the urgency stripped from the moment until it was just them left, in the dark, their mouths making the promises their hearts spoke.


	15. Chapter 15

**~~~**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**~~~**

When the air turned warm with the promise of spring, something changed. Louis felt the shift in the marrow of his bones; felt it with the sun’s warmth against his skin turned reluctant from the harsh winter wind; felt it in the way Harry’s hand brushed against his shoulder when he dropped off breakfast at the garage. 

Just as the boy was about to leave, Louis encircled his wrist and pulled him closer. Spreading a palm between shoulder blades, he laid gentle lips against the shell of Harry’s ear. “The roof. Tonight.”

Harry went still beneath his hand. Then he exhaled, his breath hot against Louis’ cheek. “Yes.”

They both knew what it meant. 

There had been more kissing and touching and teasing in the past weeks since that night on the couch. But they hadn’t taken it much further than a few wandering gropes below the belt. 

It was fun. Simple. In a way they had both needed. 

But it was spring. Harry had been home for more than six months and he was healing, and Louis was healing, and they loved each other. They loved the people they’d been and they loved the people they’d become. 

They still had bad moments. Times when Harry would stop talking in the middle of a conversation and wouldn’t start again all night. Times when Louis shuddered in fear when a plate shattered against the kitchen floor or when Harry stepped just too far away from him while they were walking in a new neighborhood. 

Harry didn’t always believe it when Louis said he loved him. But sometimes he did. 

Louis couldn’t always pretend not to be hurt when Harry didn’t accept it. But it was no longer a knife in the gut. Instead it was a deep bruise he knew was healing. That, he could live with. 

Anticipation buzzed like a good Whiskey beneath his skin the entire day. It was Sunday, which meant roast at Anne’s, so they couldn’t just go haring off into the night to find privacy. Maybe the wait made it even sweeter, though. 

Tommy and Lottie both commented on his smile as they walked the short distance to dinner. He blushed and ignored the knowing smirks in their voices when they magnanimously changed the topic to the weather. 

He let them talk, let the words curl around him as he counted steps and paused at kerbs. They were chatting about the latest dress Lottie had her eye on and there was so much warmth in Tommy’s rapt attention that Louis’ heart stuttered a bit. 

If there had been anything good to come from the war it was Tommy. No matter what he’d told Harry, there had been the fear in the back of Louis’ head that Lottie had just been a connection to home for the soldier without family. Nothing more. And that once reality sunk in, the appeal would be lost. But Tommy had taken one look at Lots and had fallen to his knees with tears running down his face. 

And Lottie started singing in the kitchen in the mornings again. She hadn’t done that since their parents had passed. 

It wasn’t going to be long before they got married. Probably they were waiting for him and Harry to work their shit out. If he brought it up they would both deny it, though, so he put it out of his mind. 

Dinner didn’t make an impression on him. It must have been normal, like always. The laughter would waver between real and too-forced but the good intentions were there, and they all appreciated that. Every week they gathered for an hour or two over wine and pretended they weren’t all carrying shadows on their souls.

Louis couldn’t sit still, though, couldn’t concentrate on anything other than  _ Harry, Harry, Harry;  _ couldn’t forget the whispered “yes” from that morning.

Anne dropped a light hand on Louis’ shoulder as she passed by him on the way to the kitchen. “You boys can leave to whatever plans you have. I won’t hold it against you.”

He would blush if he weren’t so grateful, would feel guilty about being so obvious if he weren’t so eager. Nodding, he reached up and squeezed the elegant fingers that rested against his clavicle, leaned his head into her arm for a moment as he would have done to his mother when he was a kid. Lavender. 

“Thank you,” he said, and hoped she knew it was for more than this. She sniffed and he thought she might. 

Harry had been watching them, he must have been with the speed with which he was by Louis’ side. 

“Ta, mum,” he said, all but vibrating with the excitement of it. 

And then they were back in air that was cooler than it had been that morning, but still unseasonably warm. He shivered, and Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders. They walked the rest of the way in silence, their bodies slotted into each other’s like they were meant to be. Puzzle pieces.

Even as they settled against concrete, they clicked into place with a familiarity of a million nights and a million moments just like this one. 

“Do we have to talk about it?” Harry asked, carding his fingers through Louis’ hair like he was a kitten. 

There were butterflies in Louis’ stomach, but they were happy ones. This was right. He knew it with a certainty in which he knew any earlier would have been too fast. Too soon. 

“I’m so tired of talking about it,” Louis said. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t ever again, that all the baggage they both brought would magically disappear as fingers sought warm skin and lips met. But tonight wasn’t for all that. “Kiss me.”

And so Harry did. It was all slow and languid exploration. Louis scraped his tongue against the roof of Harry’s mouth drawing a whimper from him. Harry retaliated by sucking on Louis’ bottom lip, tugging at it with gentle teeth. 

Louis went with it, rolled until his body was on top of Harry’s. Gravity did the work, keeping them flush against each other as Harry’s hands slid down to cup his arse. Still it didn’t turn heated. 

He took his time with it, pulling back just enough so they were simply breathing each other’s air. Then he rested his open mouth against Harry’s, the tip of his tongue darting into slick heat and out again. He pressed a quick kiss against the corner of Harry’s lips and then came back to taste him. There was something so fucking intimate about the way their tongues slid together, hesitant not because they were nervous but because the light touches and playful caresses felt so goddamn good. 

They rolled their hips, both of them, but even that was unhurried. It was the pleasure of sinking into a warm bath, it was the smell of vanilla-saturated cookies baking in the oven, it was the feel of Harry’s softest jumper that smelled of him sliding over Louis’ skin.

Harry chased Louis’ mouth when he pulled back, capturing it with a growl. The animalistic rumble changed the moment, made it tense and taut with desire. 

“Harry. Love.” Louis said against Harry’s lips, not even sure what he meant or what he wanted. He’d taken the lead a bit with their courtship, but that didn’t mean he had any more experience than that one night they’d shared before Harry left and then the frantic rutting on Louis’ floor. He didn’t want to ask if Harry had learned anything in the six years he’d been gone, and it didn’t matter to him at all anyway. 

“I have you,” Harry whispered, his fingers digging into the flesh of Louis’ arse. “Anything you want, Lou. Anything.”

“I …” Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s, breathing hard. “I don’t … I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Harry said and a shiver ran along the arch of Louis’ spine. It was a voice he hadn’t heard since Harry had come home. It was laced with confidence and promise and a surety that sharpened the words. “I have you.”

They worked that way, he and Harry. When one faltered, the other stepped in. When one stumbled, the other steadied. They never tallied the marks on who and when and how many, they never needed to.

He thanked God again for Harry as the boy eased him up into a sitting position, his arse shifting to settle against Harry’s hard cock. He wiggled a bit, and Harry swatted at his flank, light and flirtatious. 

“We’re really going to have to look into ways to keep you still,” Harry muttered, and Louis flashed hot at the thought and the memory. It also made him beam because he couldn’t help the way his face reacted when Harry talked about their future together.

He put both the promise of exciting new things and domestic daydreams aside as Harry’s fingers worked the buttons of his shirt. Not even trying to help, he let Harry push the fabric from his shoulders. Harry’s ribcage lifted beneath his palm.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Lou,” Harry said, a rough edge to his voice. His hands slid up Louis’ sides, tracing the way his body curved, his thumbs coming to rest against Louis’ pebbled nipples. 

While one of Harry’s hands stayed there to tweak at the sensitive bud, the other traveled up, his fingers curling around the back of Louis’ neck. Harry pulled him down so that he could plunge his tongue back into Louis’ eager mouth. The sensations were overwhelming. The shocks of pleasure shot between his chest and his groin, where Harry’s cock rocked against his own. The heat of Harry’s mouth chased away any chills from the cool night. 

The boy’s fingers tugged at the too-long strands that brushed against Harry’s knuckles, pulling Louis tight as he fought to keep his lips sealed to Harry’s. 

“Trousers,” Harry finally panted when he tore himself away, his breath hot against Louis’ chin. Louis’ fingers turned useless as he tried to work them open and off his hips, but Harry was there. Always there. Together they scrambled up, and then stripped him of his remaining clothes so that he was naked to Harry’s gaze. 

Where six months ago he’d wanted to shield himself, hide from the coldness he’d known had been in Harry’s eyes, tonight he stood open and vulnerable once more. 

“Lou,” Harry whispered, pushing himself to his feet from where he was kneeling in the pool of Louis’ discarded trousers and underwear. 

Harry’s fingers were reverent as they traced up over the soft curve of Louis’ hips, dipping light and gentle into his belly button, and then trailing along his sternum until they got to the sharp edge of his collarbones. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Harry murmured against the soft skin just below Louis’ ear.

Louis grasped at Harry’s wrist and pressed his hand down, against the hardness that curved up toward his stomach. “Oh yeah? Is it something like what you do to me?”

He had flaws, he knew that. Even if he couldn’t see every blemish or mark, he knew there were parts of him that must not be perfectly pleasing to Harry. But when Harry finally grasped his cock between sure fingers and groaned deep in his throat, Louis knew it didn’t matter. 

Louis dropped his forehead to rest against Harry’s shoulder, needing the support as Harry brushed his thumb over the leaking slit of his cock. Harry hadn’t managed to undo more than a few of his own shirt’s buttons, but it was enough for Louis to slip his fingers in to find warm skin. He turned so that his face was buried in the crook of Harry’s neck, where that heady mix of vanilla and earth could flood his senses, and then let his hands trace over the smooth lines of Harry’s back, the bumps of his ribcage, the light dusting of hair above the line of his trousers. 

He wanted to be everywhere at once, he wanted to feel everything at once. 

Harry was still stroking his cock, collecting a bit of precum along the tip before tugging down again, but the pressure was meant to keep him interested, not drive him to the edge. Sloppy and rushed handjobs weren’t enough for tonight. 

The pulse point beneath Louis’ lips steadied him before he let himself explore further. It always came down to that--Harry’s heartbeat, Louis’ solid ground. It was fast, excited and fluttery beneath his mouth, and he kissed it once before moving on to Harry’s Adam Apple. He laved over it and then sucked a bit when the cords of Harry’s muscles went taut and the smooth movement of his fingers fumbled. 

Smiling, Louis continued the path downward, his thumbs hooking on the edges of Harry’s shirt to push it off his shoulders. The loose fabric became a victim of gravity and went without too much protest. 

It let Louis find Harry’s small, tight nipple, while his fingers gripped into the soft pudge at Harry’s hips. Louis closed his mouth over the bud, flicking it with his tongue before smoothing over the hardness. He pulled back just a little to blow on the now-wet skin, and goosebumps bloomed against his lips. 

“Louis,” Harry sunk his free hand into Louis’ hair, his other still awkwardly gripping the base of Louis’ cock. The angle wasn’t quite right, but it didn’t matter at the moment. All that mattered were those little sounds he was dragging out of Harry’s throat. He switched to the other side, and gently took the neglected nipple between his teeth. Harry’s moan was delicious, and Louis thought he might like collecting them, keeping them as memories to pull out later and savor. 

“Alright, alright,” Harry nudged Louis back, and Louis smirked, enjoying the trill of power that rang through him at the shakiness in Harry’s voice. He could get used to this. 

For now, though, he waited until Harry shucked the rest of his clothing and then let himself be guided down onto the ground. Harry had maneuvered their shirts and jackets into some kind of bed that wasn’t exactly comfortable but would do the trick. Louis laid back, holding his arms out for Harry who all but collapsed into them. Hooking his ankles around the back of long, lithe thighs, he pushed his hips into Harry’s and then captured his mouth. 

There was magic in kissing his boy while they were naked under an open sky. There was a joy in his chest that could barely be contained. There was a pleasurable tightness in his lower body that begged for release, but could wait for it because when it came it would be that much better. 

“Why are you crying?” Harry pressed his open mouth against Louis’ damp cheek, and there was concern in the way he eased his weight off Louis slightly.

“Am I?” Louis asked, because he hadn’t even known it. He brushed at the skin beneath his eyes and his fingers came back coated with the remnants of his tears. He laughed and pressed his palm to Harry’s heart. It was erratic. “No, Haz. I’m just… I think I’m just really, really happy.”

“Sweetheart,” Harry murmured against Louis’ lips, settling against Louis once more. 

“It’s been a long time since I was this happy,” Louis admitted. “So purely happy.”

“I love you,” Harry gasped.

And. It was everything, everything. It was the promise of forever, it was mourning the years they’d lost and the people they’d been, it was gentleness for that sweet pure love and appreciation for this deeper complex one. It was them, under the same stars always coming back to each other, always trusting each other, always choosing each other. Even when it was the hardest thing to do.  

It was Harry, always. 

Louis could barely breathe with how much he was feeling. But then Harry’s big, strong hands were on his arms, shifting him so that he turned over on his stomach. 

“Just let me…” Harry maneuvered him so that he was folded on his knees, his chest against the ground, his head rested on his crossed arms. It put his arse on display, and Louis struggled to keep still with that knowledge rattling around in his head. He’d prepared for tonight, even though he hadn’t really known much of what to do. At least he’d scrubbed thoroughly in the shower, so there was that.

He pushed the thoughts aside as Harry’s tongue dragged along the divots of Louis’ spine. “You taste so good,” Harry said. “Like oranges.”

The soap he’d borrowed from Lottie. He’d been worried he wouldn’t smell like himself, but it helped scrub the grease from the stubborn places. When Harry’s teeth scraped against his skin, though, it chased everything else from his mind. What was left was  _ Harry  _ and  _ want  _ and  _ yes.  _

He bit into his forearm to keep the words in as Harry kissed down the rest of his back. When he got to the top of Louis’ arse cheeks he paused. “Want to hear you,” he said licking into the crack just a bit. “Want to hear you say my name.”

“Harry.” He wasn’t proud of the way it tumbled out in a rush barely pausing to become fully formed in his mouth. But it earned him a smile from Harry where his chin rested against Louis’ flesh. 

“Beautiful,” Harry said, and then he spread Louis apart so that his arsehole was just there. In Harry’s face. Before Louis could even process that, there was something warm and wet against the tight ring of muscles and Louis cried out into the night. 

“Harry… what… ahhh,” Louis moaned again as the pointed tip of Harry’s tongue nudged against him before flattening out and tracing a long strip up to the base of Louis’ spine. He nibbled his way back and then sucked on Louis’ rim. He lingered there, alternating between little kitten licks and long, slow laps of his tongue. “Fuck. Harry.”

Everything was black, but Louis swore there were lights popping behind his eyelids when Harry pulled back for a moment and then touched the wet rim with a damp fingertip. It gave under the pressure and Harry slipped into Louis’ heat. Teeth nipped along the edge, as his finger nudged in a bit further. 

God. It was so much. His cock throbbed where it was trapped between his thighs and his stomach, his eyes teared up again, his nerve endings went haywire. “Harry, please.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Harry asked his mouth still working over Louis’ rim, even though he’d withdrawn his finger. A quick caress, then a scrape of teeth and then the soothing stroke of Harry’s broad tongue. One of his hands held Louis’ hips still while the other cupped Louis’ balls, this thumb pressing into the sensitive skin just below them. 

The intense pleasure of every touch was disorienting. “You,” he managed to gasp out and was almost surprised that his tongue worked. That he hadn’t turned into starlight and fireworks. “Talk to me.”

Harry was over him in an instant, his body warm and heavy and draped along Louis’ back. He spared a brief thought to that moment six months ago when Harry had left him in silence to panic and how different they were now. How far they’d come. That trust hadn’t broken, they’d been able to fix the crack.

“Sweetheart, I’m here, I’m here,” Harry murmured against the back of his neck, his hands stroking up Louis’ sides. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, God, yes,” Louis breathed out. His body was thrumming with his need. It was a coiled spring held still only with the sheer desire to have Harry inside him before he came. “Fuck me. Please.”

“Alright, I’m just gonna…” Harry shifted off him and Louis immediately missed his weight. 

“Harry…”

“I know, sweetheart, I’m here. I’m always going to be here,” Harry said, and Louis threw out a hand to try to touch him again. Being apart hurt in a way that scared Louis, but didn’t stop him from wanting to have Harry back where he belonged. 

Harry squeezed Louis’ hand and then shifted so that he was behind Louis. He kept a palm on Louis’ back the whole time, though, so that Louis knew he was there. 

“I need to open you up a little bit, alright?” Harry stroked down the line of Louis’ spine and then back up again. It did little to soothe the ache in Louis’ cock and the heartbeat in his chest that screamed  _ please, now, please _ . 

The words didn’t really make sense to Louis until he felt an oil-slicked finger nudging at his still-wet rim. This time it sunk in smoothly, helped by whatever Harry had brought with him to ease the way. 

There was a hitch in Harry’s breathing when his second knuckle was swallowed by Louis’ hole. 

It wasn’t painful yet, but it took the edge off Louis’ urgency, relieved some of the pressure that had been a vise around his lungs. 

“Is this alright?” Harry asked, sliding the finger in and out in a smooth rhythm. 

“Mmhmmmm,” Louis hummed, his face buried in the bend of his elbow. It was a different type of pleasure than Harry’s tongue against his rim, or Harry’s mouth around his cock. Softer, with a hint of pain hiding in the shadows, but mostly lovely. He pushed back into it.

Harry laughed, low and rumbling, and almost lost to the sky. But Louis heard everything. All his senses were keyed into Harry’s every move, his every breath.

He swatted at Louis’ flank again in what could be taken as a warning to hold still, but then a second finger was nudging at Louis’ hole and any thought of not moving was lost. 

“Ohhhh,” Louis breathed out against his arm, panting through the stretch of it. Harry stilled immediately, his free hand resting at the base of Louis’ back, stroking in slow soothing circles. 

“Oh, yes? Or, oh, stop?” Harry checked. 

God, he loved this boy. “Oh, don’t stop, darling,” Louis said, wiggling his hips back. He needed Harry to move. That spring was coiling again, the pain doing little to deter the desire that was clouding his head. 

“Perfect,” Harry said. HIs fingers pumped in and out, pausing to stretch the tight, reluctant muscle that Louis tried to relax. It helped when Harry’s hand slipped down to play with his balls again. He rolled them in his palm, and then hooked the fingers that were inside Louis’ up to slide against smooth walls. 

It was then that he touched something that shot waves of almost unbearable pleasure through Louis. He arched up, pressing up onto the heels of his hands, his head thrown back, as he cried out. 

“There we go,” Harry whispered, and repeated whatever he’d done. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Louis panted as he recovered from it, only to sink back into the mindless bliss when Harry rubbed against the spot once more. “Harry, Harry, Harry.”

It was incoherent, but it did the job. He needed Harry in him. Right. The. Fuck. Now.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m here.” Harry gripped Louis’ hip with one hand, and then something much bigger than Harry’s fingers pressed against Louis. “Just relax.”

“You try relaxing,” Louis shot back, perhaps nonsensically. He couldn’t be blamed, though. He’d passed overwhelmed minutes, hours,  years ago. 

“We don’t have to…” Harry stopped, the head of him nudged right up against Louis’ rim, and Louis thought he might set himself on fire if Harry didn’t fucking do something. 

“I want this. So fucking much,” Louis tried to angle himself so that he could push back onto Harry.

“Hold on, I have an idea,” Harry said and then his cock disappeared and Louis nearly started crying again. Or kept crying? He didn’t know if he’d ever stopped. 

Then Harry was tugging him from where he’d laid down against the jackets so that Louis was straddling his stomach. His arsehole was aching and empty where it pressed into Harry’s warm flesh. 

“Here, sweetheart,” Harry gripped Louis hips, nudging him up and back a little and then Louis realized what was going on. Harry was letting him set the pace. If it wouldn’t have disrupted their precarious position, Louis would have kissed him, long and deep and with his entire heart. 

Instead he bit his lip and fumbled beneath him for Harry’s cock. It was slick with whatever oil Harry had brought, but Louis gripped it firmly and lined himself up. And then he sunk down, just a little bit. It was painful at first, letting the head slip inside him, the stretch and burn of it. But it was Harry. Harry. Harry. 

The boy’s name became his heartbeat, became the ragged breath catching in his throat as he sunk lower, became the spark of heat that licked along his spine when he finally settled against Harry’s groin. 

“Harry,” he whispered. He scrambled for Harry’s hand and their fingers locked, squeezing hard. Being so close to him, so completely connected, was everything that was right in the world. They were everything. 

“Harry.”

“Lou.” Harry was crying, too. Louis knew his voice as well as he knew the boy’s heartbeat, and it was wet with tears. With emotion. With six years of separation and six months of tangled emotions and 20 years of friendship and love. 

“My forever,” Louis managed to get out.

“My always,” Harry said back, his thumb pressing into the delicate bones of Louis’ hands. 

It was too much. All of it, it was so much. He needed to move. 

At first he was hesitant, awkward. But he found a rhythm that eased the burn from the stretch and turned it into tight pleasure that pulsed sharp and bright every time Harry’s cock nudged that spot inside of him. 

Soon they were both covered in a sheen of sweat, and Louis bent down to finally kiss his boy. “I love you,” he murmured against his lips. 

“I love you,” Harry said and pushed his hips up to meet Louis as he sank onto his rock-hard cock. Louis straightened, but kept his hand against Harry’s heart. Fast and beautiful and so, so alive. It was more than Louis could have ever asked for.   

Harry wrapped a hand around Louis’ cock and that’s when he stopped thinking at all. It only took a few minutes, and then Harry brushed his thumb over the sensitive tip at the same time Louis rocked his hips in just the right way and he came. So fucking hard; all over Harry’s hand. His boy’s name dripped from his lips, and then floated away to mingle with the stars.

Louis had lost his rhythm, but it didn’t matter to Harry. He just thrust up into Louis’ now pliant body until he came with his own shout. 

Louis melted against Harry’s chest, and winced as the softening cock slipped out of his hole. He was messy and sticky and achey and felt so goddamn wonderful.

“Better than reading about Mr. Darcy?” Harry asked pressing a weak kiss to any skin he could reach. Somehow he ended up catching the corner of Louis’ nose, and Louis laughed. 

“I don’t know,” Louis said. “That is a  _ really  _ good book.”

The night swallowed up their laughter and kept the nightmares at bay as they drifted off to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**~~~**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**~~~**

The air smelled different in Cornwall, heavy as it was with the salt from the ocean. The waves crashing against the cliffs outside the cottage were a constant rumble that was beautiful and dangerous and calming all at once. The wind slapped at his cheeks often, even as summer inched closer, turning them ruddy and red. Or so Harry claimed as he kissed the chapped skin with gentle lips. 

Louis loved it. He loved every single piece of it. 

It had been one month after their night on the roof that Harry had rubbed his knuckles along the soft spot beneath Louis ear and said, “I think it’s time for our cottage.”

They had both cried then, and Louis was beginning to accept that it was just how it was going to be. They would cry, and it would be fine. Because, of course, when they told Anne and then Lottie they went through it again, all damp eyes and wet-tinged laughter. 

Tommy proposed to Lottie the next night.

They were married two weeks later, three days after Louis had sold the garage and the flat over it. 

He and Lottie had stood in the doorway after Tommy and Harry had taken the last of the boxes to their cars, her arms wrapped around his waist, her chin hooked on his shoulder. 

She was probably looking into all the corners and seeing ghosts, but for Louis it was the smell of the place that meant something. It was mum’s burnt eggs in the mornings, and warm tea at night when he and Lottie thought they’d never make it through. It was fruit-flavored soap for the girls and fresh laundry that had become a luxury during the war and the hint of grease that always lingered in the hidden places.

It was family. 

“We did it, Lou,” Lottie murmured in his ear. 

They had. They’d survived. 

“I love you Lots,” Louis said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Lottie butted her head against his, and he took that for the acknowledgement it was. 

“Are you happy now?” she asked. 

“More than I ever thought was possible,” Louis said without a moment’s hesitation. And even though he knew the answer, he had to ask. “Are you?”

Lottie nodded against his shoulder. “More than I ever thought was possible.”

Tommy had a small flat a few neighborhoods over, so Lottie wasn’t going far. She promised to keep an eye on the garage--Dan’s legacy--and Zayn along with it. 

The goodbye was painful. So painful. But they’d both visit, and it was time for Lottie to start her new life. She deserved it, so much. 

“I love you, sis.” Louis pressed a kiss into her forehead. 

As they left the city, with Louis curled into his side of the car and his hand resting in Harry’s, he felt every layer of tension slip from his body. He thought about them years and years ago, on the way to Brighton, their pinkies hooked together as their secrets pulsed in the space between them. 

So much had changed. So much had stayed the same. 

They’d found a small cottage they could afford with Harry’s money from the war, and Louis’ shares of the garage. He’d have to set up a shop in the town that was about a quarter-mile down the road, but he didn’t want to worry about that yet. For now, they could just live. Live as they had never really had a chance to. Without any responsibilities or pressure or prying eyes. 

Moving in together wasn’t all smooth sailing. They both had tempers and were absolutely stubborn to the core. Sometimes Harry would walk out in the middle of an argument, knowing Louis couldn’t follow because of the cliffs, and then come back and blame him for not communicating. 

“How am I supposed to communicate when you’re not here, tell me that Harry,” Louis had yelled, every frustration turning his words sharp. 

“Yeah, because you’re so good at it when I am here,” Harry shouted back. 

So they worked on it. Harry promised not to leave mid-fight, and Louis promised to listen to the words he was actually saying and not what he feared the meaning was. 

But, mostly? It was heaven. Even with the rows they had. It was everything Louis had ever wanted, everything he thought was an impossibility he would never get a chance to have.

They’d gotten their damn cottage. They ate breakfast at the small table Harry had bought for the garden that nothing grew in because of the wind from the cliffs. There was one three-legged dog that sometimes stopped by, and Louis counted it anyway. They took walks down the path to the pebbled beach below at low-tide, Harry’s hand steady against Louis’ arm. Lottie and Tommy visited, and so did Anne. 

Maybe they weren’t a fairytale, but they were so much more. 

It had been three months since they’d moved to Cornwall. Louis was sitting by the open door so he could hear and smell the ocean. It brought a peace he’d never known he needed. When the bombs got too loud, the waves drowned them out and all was alright again. Harry had walked into town for groceries with the promise that he was planning on taking his time on the way back to enjoy the scenery. 

Louis heard him first, his boots against the loose stone of the path to their cottage. He smiled, excited to have his boy near even though it couldn’t have been more than two hours since he’d left. It was a luxury he didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of. 

Then he smelled the bouquet. Flowers, a mix of them he couldn’t identify individually. His heartbeat stuttered. 

“Harry?” He called, feeling off-balance for no real reason. 

“Hi, love.” Harry came closer, pressing his lips to Louis’ in greeting. 

“What have you got there?”

“Oh these?” Harry feigned casual, but he couldn’t quite pull it off. “Just some wildflowers.”

“For me?” Louis asked, hating that he sounded so eager. 

Harry pressed the stems into Louis’ hands as he settled into the chair across from him. Louis pulled the bunch close to his chest, burying his nose in their sweet, overwhelming fragrance.

“Is this to rival my infamous bouquet?” Louis hid his smile behind the petals. 

“Um, well,” Harry shifted further down so that their knees knocked together. “So it turns out it’s a lot harder to buy any kind of flower you want around these parts than it is in London.”

Louis giggled and they both startled at the sound. They were so happy these days, but gaiety always surprised them a bit still. “You don’t say.”

“So, you’re going to have to use your imagination,” Harry drawled and there was a bit of bashfulness in the voice. He could just picture Harry standing in the middle of town with his grand romantic gesture planned in his head only to be thwarted by the fact that they lived in Cornwall.

“Uh-uh,” Louis said, running the tip of his finger along the dewy stems. He must have picked the wildflowers that grew along the path into town. He smiled at the image of his lovely Harry clutching a growing collection of raggamuffin blooms in his calloused hands. “I think it’s you who is going to have to use your imagination. What would you have bought me?”

“The whole shop,” Harry said. “Every flower in the world that meant love and honesty and trust and friendship and patience and kindness and strength and hope.”

“Hmmm, that’s a start,” Louis said, hooking his ankle around Harry’s. 

Harry nabbed Louis’ hand pulling it over to rest in his lap, stroking the knuckles idly with his thumb. 

“Honestly, Lou,” Harry said. “I would give you anything in the world to show you what you mean to me. I don’t think I’m always as good at saying it as you are. Not anymore.”

Louis finally set the bouquet aside, making a note to remember to put them in water. “That’s not true at all.”

“Can I just…” Harry paused, and there was a hitch in his breathing. “I want to tell you some things. But can we walk?”

It was hard to tamp down the flutter of worry, but Louis just nodded. “Of course.”

They made their way outside, Harry’s hand in his. The path to the cliffs was always kept clear, and it was no different today. There were no divots to trip him up or misplaced stones. Just one of those millions of small things Harry did to make him feel safe. 

The air turned vicious as they neared the edge, but Louis welcomed the sting of it. Everything was feeling a bit tight in his chest, and concentrating on the wind helped ease that claustrophobic pressure. 

He bumped into Harry’s shoulder when the boy stopped abruptly, and had to side-step to keep his balance. Then Harry tugged him toward the narrow strip of land that zig-zagged itself down the cliffs all the way to the beach.

Near the bottom was a spot that was sheltered from the wind and the roar of the waves, but still let them be outside in the open where emotions were easier to lay bare. 

They didn’t talk until they’d settled down against the boulder, adjusting so that they were sitting on more sand than pebbles. 

“Alright, darling,” Louis finally prodded, making sure to press his thumb into Harry’s palm. Contact. They were on the same side. 

Harry’s little sigh was almost lost to the surf crashing against the shore. “I should have done this like you did. It’s easier to talk to paper, you know?”

Louis laughed, just a little, relaxing back into the cold stone. “You still would have had to read it to me.”

“I could have pretended it was just another poem,” Harry muttered as if seriously contemplating running back up to the cottage for some pen and his journal. 

“It’s just me, Harry,” Louis said, tipping his head against the boy. He wanted to place a hand to his heart, but didn’t want to spook him further. 

“I know. I know, I’m being stupid,” Harry said, and his shoulder nudged Louis’ cheek up as he took a deep, steadying breath. “You were always golden to me. When we were young, you had all these ideas. You made the most boring day an adventure, and then you’d laugh and your eyes would crinkle up and you looked like the actual sun. Everything about you glowed. You got into trouble, got us into trouble, but it was always, always worth the punishment. To be able to be a part of it with you.”

The two of them, running through narrow back alleys, and sneaking off to the docks, unable to contain their giggles. Louis remembered green eyes flashing with joy. 

“And then you got sick and lost your sight,” Harry said. “And still you glowed. I’ve never seen someone so strong. You didn’t let anything stop you. You didn’t give up and let one misfortune define you. I would cry at night. A lot in those first months.”

Louis hummed, a little concerned protest. Harry had never told him that.

“But it wasn’t because I was scared for you,” Harry rushed on. “It was because I was so, so proud of you. My Lou was so strong I told mum all the time. She’d pat me on the head, and say, ‘Yes dear, I know.’ And I would feel so lucky to even know you.”

Who are we going to be today, Lou? The echo of Harry’s happy voice would forever rattle around in his brain. It had been a choice, just like choosing every day to love Harry. A choice between giving up and going on. 

“I thought if I went to war I would be as strong as you,” Harry said, his voice gone small and quiet. “Which is so stupid. But…”

“What?” Louis pushed the question out between chapped lips. 

“I thought it would make you proud of me,” Harry mumbled turning his face into Louis’ hair. Louis’ heart tripped over itself.

“Oh baby,” Louis said, and then couldn’t stop himself. He tugged Harry until the boy was in his lap, his head resting in the warm crook of Louis’ neck. Louis ran soothing hands down his spine, knowing that always helped keep himself from unraveling. 

“You were still golden to me,” Harry mumbled, his lips wet against Louis’ skin. “The memory of that night was still golden. And then the war happened. Your letters helped. So much. Your journal. The picture of us. It kept everything glittering around the edges even as so much darkness crept in. But the years kept going by and I couldn’t even really tell, you know?”

Louis nodded. He did.

“I marked the passing time in raining and not raining. Cold hands or sweaty feet. That’s how we could tell. And still we had to keep going, always going,” Harry’s voice was gravelly, his heart fast against where it pressed against Louis’. 

As much as they talked about everything else, they never talked about the war. Not in anything other than vague metaphors and cryptic language. 

“Good men died, Lou. But do you know what? Other men also died, too. The ones where I didn’t know if they were good or bad or if they had a boy waiting for them at home who was golden and bright and thought they were strong and brave but really they were scared shitless more often than not.”

Harry paused, breathing heavy, and Louis didn’t say anything. 

“That’s what got to me the most,” Harry said. “We stopped being people, and started being uniforms. It was the only way to survive. But so many didn’t get to go home to their golden boys. Or girls,” Harry sniffled on that. And Louis finally smiled, just a quick flash that was more smirk than humor. 

“So when I came home, and you were there and you were still golden, something inside me just shattered, Lou,” Harry continued. “I had been holding myself together for so long, when I let go, the millions of pieces went everywhere.”

The coldness from that day still chilled Louis’ skin when he thought about it. The silence. That bloody silence. 

“Touching you was hard, because you were bright and shining and lovely and I was. Ruined.”

“Harry,” Louis said, unable to form any other words. Just his boy’s name, whispered on a sigh. 

“But you wouldn’t let me push you away,” Harry said, and there was just a hint of a smile in his voice again. It helped Louis breathe properly, hearing it. “Those letters. God. Those letters, Louis.”

“They were sappy,” Louis protested, though they both knew it was weak. 

“I hated you at first for them,” Harry admitted, and pulled back a little. He ran his finger along the line of Louis’ jaw. “I cried and cursed and read them over and over and over again. Each one. And when I went to bed at night, sometimes, sometimes I thought of them instead of the dead men crying out for their golden loves as they died alone on the battlefield.”

“I wore you down, though,” Louis tugged at one of Harry’s curls that was making a reappearance now that he didn’t have to keep it cut for the war.    

“I thought maybe if we talked you’d realize. I’d be able to talk some sense into you,” Harry admitted, shifting a bit to get more comfortable in Louis’ lap. “And when that didn’t work, I thought I’d let you court me and then you would realize.”

“That was never going to happen, Harry.”

“Sometimes I still think you’ll be talking to me one day and it will hit you,” Harry said. “But once we started up again, I knew I couldn’t let you go. You are the light in my life, Louis. You make me happy when I thought that was never going to be possible again. You make me laugh even though I’d forgotten how. You chase away my nightmares.”

And God. Sometimes Louis thought there was no where else to fall. They’d tumbled twice now, had seen the ugly parts of each other’s souls, had seen the beautiful places as well. But everyday he slid a little further in love with his boy. 

Harry placed his lips against Louis’. “You are golden.”

“Fuck,” Louis murmured into Harry’s mouth. “A tie, then?”

The question broke the tension that had been woven into a silky, taut web between them. Harry giggled and pushed at Louis’ shoulder. “Heyyy, mine was pretty good. I poured my heart out”

“Yes, Harold,” Louis said, all faux-patience and condescension he knew would tickle Harry. “But you didn’t actually get the flowers.”

“Alright, a draw,” Harry said, sighing happily and settling back in against Louis’ chest. 

“Harry?” Louis asked, his fingers digging into Harry’s curls. 

“Yes, love?” Harry asked, but his voice sounded drained, like he was about to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep after everything he’d just poured out. 

“Do you remember that poem you read me? About still being young?” Louis didn’t know why he thought of it. But now that he had, he couldn’t get it out of his head. “The night before you left.”

“Hmmmm,” Harry hummed and Louis took it as a yes.

“Was that about us?”

“Of course,” Harry sounded just a bit more awake now. But not by much. “They all were. About us. Or about you.”

Louis remembered lying under the stars and wondering. It seemed like so long ago, now.

“Did you ever finish it?” It was silly to want more when he’d already gotten so much. He never denied being greedy though. 

Harry placed his hand over Louis’ heart, and he wondered when Harry would learn it well enough to read. “Yes.”

“Could you…” Louis wet his dry lips. “Could you tell it to me?”

“Yes.” Harry said. But he sat silent for a moment, and then a moment longer. Just as Louis was about to shrug it off, lie and say it wasn’t important, that he hadn’t been thinking about it every day since he’d first heard it, Harry sat up. He took Louis’ fingers and brought them up so that his palm rested against Harry’s chest. 

His heartbeat. Slow and strong and steady. Harry.

“Had another talk about where it’s going wrong. But we’re still young. We don’t know where we’re going, but we know where we belong,” Harry’s voice turned the words into warm honey and Louis let them slide over his skin, sink into his bones. “Oh we started, two hearts in one home. It’s hard when we argue, we’re both stubborn, I know. But, oh, sweet creature wherever I go, you bring me home. Oh, sweet creature. When I run out of road, you bring me home.”

Louis breathed out, harsh and ragged, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. And then they sat there, with their hands against each other’s hearts. On their beach. Beneath their damn cottage. Living the life they’d made for themselves despite everything that had told them it would be an impossibility. Forever. Always.

“Hey Harry,” Louis finally said. There were tears on his cheeks, and Harry swiped at them with a gentle finger.

“Yes, Lou?”

“You were right. Back then.”

Harry snuffed, sinking back into Louis’ chest where he belonged. “Oh yeah? What about?”

“You and me? We’re what’s right in this world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so much for reading! if you're so inclined to share the fic post with Rachel's beautiful art, you can find it [ here](http://briannamarguerite.tumblr.com/post/166041521727/were-whats-right-in-this-world-50k-story-by). And please come say hi on [ Tumblr ](http://briannamarguerite.tumblr.com). I love yelling about fics.
> 
> And again check out all the reverse bangs [ here ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1D_Reverse_Bang_2017), they are going to be fabulous. xo


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